Family Games
by Sergeant Leraje
Summary: After defeating Schwartz, the men of Weiss still try to combine their work for Kritiker and daily life. There is just one problem. Yohji and Aya cannot stand each other.
1. Chapter 1

_**Warnings: Swearing. A little abuse of characters. Lots of abuse of punctuation. A hint of religion bashing, nothing severe. Shounen-ai**__** depending on the reader. **_

Minor edits to the Weiss timeline. Takes place after Kapitel, yet Aya's sister hasn't awakened. 

---

_So here we are again._

Yohji lifted his head, legs conveniently spread out on either side of him as he was, at the moment, the only occupant of the couch in their small living room. Behind him, Omi ran happily up the stairs with arms full of a bundle of clean, ironed clothes. The boy didn't quite make his escape before Ken emerged from the kitchen, loudly asking for the bottle of laundry detergent. Omi dutifully turned around, almost fell down the stairs as the bundle of clothes threatened to win him over, and gave Ken directions with a cheery smile.

Omi always did chores as if he was unwrapping presents on Christmas.

It was weekend.

It was all a part of the game. A game Ken eagerly adopted and followed along to, though Omi had gradually started it, and extended the whole shit after they ended up stuck here again. A game Yohji personally neither cared much for, nor despised, but found himself playing along with anyway. Omi's family game.

It was ridiculous as nothing else.

It was damn convenient.

And Yohji liked convenient. Convenient meant that Omi would place a small bundle of clean laundry beside each door to their rooms. That Ken would bring in the newspaper while they had lunch. That not a single trace of dust could be found anywhere in the house, though not even normal households used to keep it this clean. It had become the kid's devotion, although Yohji's gut knew that somewhere the greater forces, if there were any, were laughing their asses of them.

Either way, they followed the lead. It was the least they could do to keep the boy smiling, and it was the least they could do for him when he went head over heels doing chores.

"Yohji! Oi, Yohji! Mind moving those long – things – of yours? I kind of need to vacuum under the table."

Ken's voice snapped him out of his little analysis of their current situation, but the reply was cut short when Omi skipped down and tilted his head.

"He is going to. Yohji, it's your turn to do grocery shopping!"

He was handed a white piece of paper, graced by Omi's handwriting. Every time Yohji saw it, his face would contort in a frown. Gods, but the kid wrote like a girl. Then again, what did Omi - not - do which wasn't neat or overly cute by normal standards?

Not in any position to protest, Yohji heaved himself out of the couch, which now had his signature printed on it in the form of the shape of his butt. He did his usual ritual of stretching, yawning, and giving Omi a complaining look, before snatching his prized possessions from the table and stuffing them into his pocket. Then, he decided the world was ready for Yohji Kudoh.

However, as soon as he stepped outside, he realized that apparently Yohji Kudoh was not ready for the world. The midday sun managed to throw him a good punch in the face and make him flinch, squint and push his glasses further up on his nose. A few dry leaves were carried off by the wind, passing his feet and not caring too much about sticking to his shoes. Yohji glanced down; silently giving them a piece of his mind for resisting his charms before he figured it would be an idea to head for the garage.

Silently that was. They were four men, two of which hadn't even reached their twenties, under the official care of a senile old lady who was barely able to remember her cat's name, much less theirs, tending flowers at day, murdering at night, and the _last_ thing Yohji needed was someone catching him in a conversation with fallen leaves. That would just be the final drop.

Throwing himself into the driver's seat of his Super Seven, Yohji took out one of his prized possessions, the car key, and started the vehicle. It was interesting, how the members of Weiss stored what they valued. Omi had everything within their four walls. Ken in his room. Everything Yohji needed in life could be conveniently fit into his two pockets.

The car keys.

Damn if he hadn't spent a fortune on his only love, but she was worth it, her looks made people turn their heads. Hell, she was worth it just because she put up with him during his nightly activities, be it shielding him from bullets, or carrying him to a foreign home even though he could barely make out what was left and right, much less be allowed to drive.

The wallet.

Because you wouldn't get far without, it was simple as that. Because that's where leftover cash from the flower shop business was mingled with leftover cash from his true profession. He could never distinguish it. Like ten guns aiming at a convict sentenced to death. Five of those have bullets, five have not. Because it neutralizes the guilt.

The cigarette pack.

To cope. To cope with staying in a house where the more they tried to make life normal, the more off the wall it became. To cope with staying in a house where the youngest member desperately tried to pretend they were some sort of family, greeting them with a smile every morning as if the world had never seen misery. Where the said member would be overwhelmed when he was allowed to do chores and homework, instead of throwing a fit like any lazy teenager his age should. To cope with living through lame soccer matches on TV and hear ecstatic cries, or outburst of rage every time the "wrong" team advanced. To cope with not being able to live without these things, because they all had damn well tried and failed.

Several times, the flower shop had been closed for good. Several times, they swore to never see each other again. Several times, Weiss was supposed to become a dark memory, never to be brought up again.

Each time, they came back.

Yohji took to the left, gazing absently at the road in front of him, forgetting to pay attention to the red lights now and then. Perhaps he was honked at, but then again, cars honked all the time around here. It was easy enough to pretend the beeping wasn't aimed at him. And if it was – they could see if he cared.

As for why they came back however, was a teller's tale in itself.

He, for the matter, had been living quite a nice life without Weiss. No Weiss meant far less job. Less income as well, perhaps, but Yohji could do fine without getting paid for cutting windpipes. Fewer jobs meant more dates. More clubbing. He would work here and there, assisting at a grocery mall, sweeping floors at some office, and play gentleman at night. He had even been stupid enough to try to deliver the morning newspapers once. Wouldn't repeat that mistake again.

That was what in his eyes could have been regarded as a normal life. The problem was just the time in between. What he would do when he had days off, when there was no extra jobs in store for him, no overtime, no dates. Oh, Yohji had been creative enough. He had even gone as far as getting permanent lady company to keep him from coming back. She had been a sweet thing. The kind that did wonders in bed. That made breakfast every morning and left notes with drawn hearts at the bottom for him.

But it didn't suffice, it never did. The romantic dinners after work became dull. The walks in the park became a chore. In retrospect, he supposed he could have cheated on her and get some variation. But even then, he would still wake up sometimes, sweating and gasping as if he'd been chased by the Devil himself. And though it didn't occur very often, her ever curious eyes and gentle hands wouldn't take this little problem away. Neither would it explain his bizarre reflexes, his tendency to jump into all sorts of fist fights and win, and the sudden urge to grab for his watch every time he felt threatened. Hell, he wished that he could have been beaten up and have his wallet stolen in some dark alley like any normal, unlucky citizen, instead of delivering a few precise punches and walk away while the thugs didn't know what hit them.

Yohji, after going as far as he could go, had realized that for him, displaying only half of his face was impossible.

And so he came back.

Ken had his reasons as well, he knew. Ken was like some animal that never fully grew up and would still follow its mother around, even though she hissed at it. In other words, Ken wasn't really able to  
stand on his own legs, claws or no claws. He had too big of a heart, falling too easily into traps that would scorch him and he wouldn't even be able to deal with the pain on his own. Though there was little comfort to find in their so-called family, it had always been enough for him to know that someone else saw the cruelties he saw, felt the way he felt. He was the one who needed to discuss and talk loudly in the aftermath of an exhausting mission, getting it out of his system and into Omi's patient ears. Ken could handle what life in Weiss served him, but he couldn't handle being alone.

And Omi… Omi was the one with most reasons to come back. Yohji was past Omi's phase in life, but he wondered if he would have been able to be what Omi was, had he been in the kid's situation at the age of seventeen. Kids at that age should be concerned with their motorbikes and dates, not taking the roles of a mother and younger brother in an imaginary family. They should argue with their parents over pocket money, not berating their fellow assassin colleague for losing the entrance key after coming home drunk at 4.50 in the morning.

It was ironic, if anything. Omi was every parent's dream, and there wasn't even a family present to value him.

And that was why Omi was the first one to come back. Because he had no one that would give the slightest damn about him. Because Kritiker had set him up living with a nonexistent family consisting of parents, a younger sister and a dog in the official records. Because Omi, being only seventeen, had been given his own apartment and was supposed to take care of everything himself, as well as keeping up his perfect family image at school. Because Omi had to come with excuses after excuses as to why he couldn't bring friends home, and make up the holiday stories he knew never would be reality.

And then… there was the one who was – forced – to come back. The one constant reminder of the fact that their little pretension game was nothing more than a fraud. Aya Fujimiya, the leader of Weiss, the outsider by any other name, crushed Omi's idea of being a substitute family like a frail insect under a heavy leather boot. No surprise there. Yohji never expected anything less.

Oh, Aya was dutiful enough when it came to sharing chores, but that had nothing to do with keeping Omi happy. It had to do something with Aya being a perfectionist to the fingertips. That made so much sense. A guy who enjoyed reading, if Aya could enjoy anything at all, who drank tea, exercised regularly and wore the most horrendous, yet plain clothing. A guy who would cling more to morals than any nun, despite the fact that he smeared his hands in blood every time Kritiker saw it fit. He even wore glasses when he read. Fucking glasses. Yes, it made sense.

Yohji figured he wished Aya to hell.

The Koneko atmosphere and lumps of ice didn't mix, end of story. Aya seemed to think the same, because judging by the facial expression he displayed more and more recently, he seemed to be ready to grab his baggage and lunge out of the house the very second Kritiker permanently dismissed him.

But it wouldn't happen. It wouldn't happen as long as that damn obsession object of his, that damn little girl who has been in comatose for years and would most likely never wake up again, was being taken care of by them. Kritiker had the wire tightened around Aya's puny neck better than Yohji could ever do, and as long as his sister stayed in her current state, Aya would have no other option than wagging his tail every time their superiors whistled. That, of course, meant he had to put up with living with the Weiss team, family games or not. But why were _they_ forced to suffer from his presence?

And so Yohji found himself speculating over yet another unresolved mystery of the world. A mystery he firmly believed in nonetheless – karma.

What a fucked up way of dealing with their existence, Yohji mused as he stepped out of the car and slammed the door shut, looking up at the afternoon sky. A never-ending circle. Crimes led to punishment, which again would lead to crimes, and so it went on. Yohji found it neither very mature, nor very pedagogic. In fact, it resembled little short of cruelty to him. Whatever those morons by names of Adam and Eve had done, it must have pissed off the Gods pretty badly.

It felt good to have an excuse. For the blood he had shed and the hearts he had broken, he very well deserved to be stuck in an imaginary doll house and endure Aya's presence. Aya, that fucker, had stained hands _and_ a personality that could cool off the sun, so it made sense that he would have a sister in comatose and no life otherwise. Omi and Ken, those were harder to find reasons for, but he supposed it was all a part of the bigger karma puzzle that his nicotine-clouded brain wasn't meant to have an overview of.

Sometimes, he would sit on the balcony outside of his room and hope. Hope that the girl would wake up so Kritiker wouldn't have anything on Aya anymore. Those were usually the moments after Aya had, with less than one sentence, brought tears to Omi's eyes, or sent Ken dashing out of the house in rage. He would hope, and at the same time know that his wishes about getting Aya as far away as possible from them would not be granted. But just the thought was worth it.

When it came down to facts, he didn't wish Aya to hell after all. If he went there, they would have to meet up sooner or later, and Yohji had serious doubts about how he could handle that. It was enough to know that he would be accompanied for all eternity by the bastards they once had assassinated; he didn't need the Fujimiya there on top of it. Eternity was a long time. And besides, smoking was probably prohibited down there too.

---

He stepped inside of the store and flipped up Omi's note, scanning the list. It was a typical Omi-note, and it brought a small smile to his lips. Yohji looked up and looked over the rim of his shades, before walking over to fetch the transparent plastic bags for vegetables.

It was amazing how considerate the kid was. Plainly amazing, Yohji thought as he picked several of the best-looking apples he saw. The grocery list was divided into five sections. Not separated by lines or anything, but it was obvious anyway. It started with the general things they needed, like bread, sugar and hand-soap. Then, there was a section for Ken, where Omi had written up several vegetables, orange juice, fruits and snack biscuits the glutton could have when he felt hungry in between the meals. Underneath, there was a Yohji-section, which included pizza and a whole bunch of dishes meant to be warmed up in the microwave oven late at night. For himself, Omi would usually write up cereal, milk and whatever ingredients he needed to make their dinner through the week.

It was amusing that Omi bothered with a section for Aya as well, listing up his favorite tea and ingredients for the less heavy meals Aya preferred.

They all had tastes that made cooking a very complicated task. Four persons, four preferences. Omi had solved the problem rather neatly. Each day, he would make something for dinner, and went for a round when it came to their tastes. First of all, he would force them all to keep the healthy diet he so firmly believed in, and knew Ken needed to keep in shape. They had no right to complain there. In fact, they had no right to complain at all, simply because Omi would never let Ken or Yohji close to the oven for very good reasons. Yohji remembered how he once attempted to make breakfast for himself. That particular action led to Omi doing the unthinkable; teaming up with Aya to yell Yohji's head off his shoulders. It also led to Ken having to buy a new frying pan, as it was impossible to clean the previous one.

Yes, the kid was indeed very fond of things only a rabbit would normally eat. He always made his own lunchbox for school, which contained small pieces of bread, cheese and a random fruit, or an equally small portion of rice with vegetables, spring rolls and the likes.

Ken knew he should like rabbit food too, but his tastes were more similar to Yohji's. If it was greasy and American, it was good.

Aya… Aya had a taste of food that matched his personality. First of all, he dutifully ate everything, like a soldier in some army. Despite that, Omi had somehow figured Aya's preference over the few years they spent together as Weiss. He wondered how, as it wasn't like Aya would ever tell them on his own accord, and it wasn't like they would ever get a decent answer if they asked. Either, the kid had secret mind-reading abilities that would make the telepath-fucker in Schwartz go green with jealousy, or Omi actually had enough patience to experiment and guess. But the result was the same; he got it figured, and at least once a week he would torture the rest of the group with serving traditional Japanese food and other light meals, just to make the redhead pleased.

Waste of time.

Yohji paused by the snack shelves for a moment, his eyebrows coming together before he grabbed a pack of pineapple flavored pocky and continued to the counter to pay. It wasn't listed anywhere, but he would always get Omi something good when he went out for groceries. Their unwritten rule. Perhaps it made Omi feel his efforts were worth something, or perhaps he just had gotten so used to play older brother that it just seemed natural, but it was there.

As he returned to the car, slightly disappointed, he pulled out a cigarette, now and then glancing at the mirror. The new employee hadn't been there today. Her name was Miss Sasaki, and Yohji had been keeping his eyes on her for quite some time. Ken, that idiot, had no idea what he was talking about when he claimed Yohji only needed to snap his fingers to get a girl into his lap. It was an intricate game that required detailed planning and advanced tactics, and there were lots of unexpected surprises behind every corner. Of course, the whole operation could be set off within the time-span of one night if he wished, but courting was just as fun. At least it gave him an excuse when he needed to get out of the house.

But today, she hadn't been there. Instead, he had been met by a sour male in his mid-forties that had been staring at Yohji's pockets as if he expected them to be filled with stolen food.

"How fair is that?" Yohji mumbled with the cigarette in between his teeth, inhaling the tobacco powder as he raced down the road without bothering to light it. Unless it was necessary, Yohji wouldn't dream of stealing as much as a crumb of bread. He would rather not think about what this karma could do to him if he did so, but he knew it would be far from pleasant. At its worst, he would probably be forced to share room with Aya for an indefinite amount of time. Besides, Omi would throw a fit if common police knocked on their door one day. And besides, why on earth should he bother when his bank account was already stuffed with money he just wished could catch fire and disappear?

No, stealing was out of the option at least. The old man could rest easy.

He parked his Seven in the driveway and made his way to the luggage locker, picking up the first two bags and placing them in each arm, squeezing the third one in between. This could be a very awkward walk, he soon realized. The third bag threatened to slip all the time, and then he would be in deep shit. As considerate as Omi could be, Yohji was surprised he didn't leave the small wheelbarrow from their shop here for him. It would be typical Omi.

But obviously, the kid hadn't thought so far. Yohji also realized after the first ten steps that he could have been more considerate as well. For instance, he could have left the third bag in the car and then return for it with empty hands, but that was just not worth the effort. So it was either making it to the Koneko in one piece, or face the consequences if he failed. Swallowing heavily, Yohji drew a theatrical breath and kept walking, but alas, fate decided to show mercy today.

Two of their regular customers ran to his rescue. He recognized them instantly, even though they didn't wear their school uniforms today. School uniforms weren't necessary when he heard the all-too-familiar, high-pitched greeting.

" Yohji-san! Good afternoon, Yohji-san!" A giggle followed. "Have you been shopping groceries?"

Yohji's lips curled into the most satisfied smile the world had ever seen.

"Why, good afternoon sweeties!" He lowered the bags, leaning down to reach their eye level with a very happy face. "You might say so. I have been making sure the guys won't starve for the next few days. At least it wasn't my turn to vacuum today."

The girls turned to each other briefly, their cheeks already burning red under his intense glare, before they burst out giggling. Yohji could only guess what kind of scenes he would find inside their pretty heads, and it made him smirk. Yeah yeah, four boys sharing a home. It could make everyone curious, but to schoolgirls with over-active hormones, it was pure entertainment. They had an excuse for that one too. Something about being related, being students, being whatever Omi could make up.

"But what are you two doing here, hm? You both know very well that the Koneko is closed today." He laughed playfully. "Came here to spy, or just couldn't wait for Monday to see me again?"

The girls blushed furiously this time, being handed one bag each as Yohji ended up with the smallest one. He made them put them down at the top of the stairs, opening the door before he turned to them both. Their eyes started shining as they tried to see behind him without seeming too impolite, probably expecting to see the sex scene of their life right in the corridor. He barely managed to keep his laughter back. The Koneko was not _that_ type of cat house.

"Um…" One of the girls blinked up at him. He looked down at her, mild eyes questioning insecure ones. Her friend pushed her a few steps forward, a sign to continue.

"Is… Aya-san home?"

Yohji's face fell. Yes, Aya was home. Where else would he be, unless Kritiker had developed very sudden need for him during Yohji's absence. Which was highly unlikely. Or unless he was visiting his sister, which he never did during weekends. Yes, Aya was home. No, he didn't plan on calling him; spending five minutes outside his door to persuade him to see these girls only to have him slam the door in their innocent faces. The girls didn't need to witness that, and neither did he.

"Yeah… yeah, Aya's somewhere around. But… he's got this huge test coming up on Monday. Been locking himself up for the entire weekend…"

Both girls put up expressions of pure distress, but he just shook his head.

"Sorry girls, shit luck."

The one who had asked for Aya nodded slowly, then produced a small, folded note from her bag and handed it to him. She blushed crimson, averting her gaze.

"Please give this to him, Yohji-san." She chirped, immediately disappearing behind her supporting friend. Yohji made a noise of approval, properly wishing them goodbye as he closed the door.

A note to Aya. It seemed that spraying perfumes on these types of notes never went out of fashion. He sighed. Might as well throw this already and save himself from an extra glare. Those poor notes from those poor girls. He had no clue what Aya did to them when he received them, but he was sure as hell that Aya didn't read them. Somewhere in his mind, he saw Aya sitting in his room at night, dipping the notes in black ink and piercing them with his katana. The image lasted for a mere second, before he shook it away with an impish little laugh. Then, he picked up the bags and went inside.

"Ladies, I'm home!"

"Yohji, you were gone for so long!" Omi magically appeared on top of the staircase and whined in a cheery voice, running down the stairs like a child whose father came home late from work.

"Aa, I had to decide which porn magazine issue I lacked this month…" Yohji ruffled the kid's hair, throwing him the pocky that Omi already knew he would get. The boy looked up at him and huffed, his mouth forming into a perfect pout.

"Yohji…"

"You wanted me to buy one for you as well?" The older man leaned on Omi's shoulder and grinned falsely, fully expecting the blush and the shove that soon followed.

"Oi, oi! Yohji, that's enough, man. Stop picking on the kid already." Ken stuck his head out of the kitchen with both arms occupied by plants. That didn't stop him from elbowing Yohji in the gut for emphasis.

"No worries, Ken." Yohji turned around and pulled up his sleeves as he walked into the kitchen, a smug look on his face. "I know Omi-kun has enough of those under his bed."

He didn't need to turn around to guess what Omi's face looked like.

---

Home was not a bad word after all, when you sat in the kitchen and waited for your reward for getting the groceries. Omi had, somewhere along the way, figured that he should try to teach Ken how to cook. That was why the little room was currently filled with noise, orders and stupid questions blending. Hey, he wouldn't know if the questions were stupid. For him, it sounded like Omi was teaching away advanced mathematics or intricate laws of nature. But judging by the kid's small sighs every time Ken opened his mouth, he guessed it was simpler than it looked like.

Yohji placed both hands behind his head and stretched out his neck, sending Ken a compassionate glance before he went back to reading the newspaper from yesterday.

Newspapers were something all members of Weiss both hated and needed. Every time Yohji picked up one, something inside him scrunched up. For what could have been a shocking, non-personal tragedy for common citizens, would soon be solid reality for them. Each new incident people would whisper about could bring Manx or Birman to their doorstep. And yet, they found themselves unable to avoid the media. They even had the news channel on while they worked at the flower shop, and that said enough. It made them feel prepared, in a way. On the other hand, each time it was a nerve-tormenting guessing game. The speculations would silently go on as they wondered whether they would get a new assignment, if Kritiker would let it pass, or if they would use other agents.

This time, the newspaper brought him nothing. The pages were the usual, smeared with politics, economy and culture. Some burglars were caught robbing a jewelry store, a former rape victim was found dead, the prime minister said… Yohji put the paper away as Omi placed a plate in front of him and peered down at the sandwich. Ken had already taken out two cans of coke from the fridge, looking very ready for food. He let Yohji catch one before slumping down on the opposite side, properly thanking Omi. The boy smiled back, tilting his head to look at the front page of the newspaper for a moment before he waved them goodbye and rushed out. Yohji placed his elbow on the seat back and turned in time to see him vanish, shaking his head.

"Does he ever grow tired?"

Ken didn't answer anything coherent, his mouth full of sandwich, but he nodded vigorously.  
After some chewing, he cleared his throat and grabbed the coke.

"Like the energizer bunny. You know, goes on and on and on."

Yohji choked on his own drink, putting it down to wipe his mouth. But the laugh left a bitter taste in his mouth, as he often had come home late at night and peered curiously into Omi's lit-up room only to find the boy asleep behind his computer. Those were the times when Yohji particularly felt like an older brother, draping Omi's blanket over his shoulders and tucking a pillow under his head. The kid would get severe back pains when he got older, that was for sure. Omi already complained about stiff neck muscles, coaxing Ken into massaging his shoulders in exchange for a snack. But then again, Yohji wasn't the one to talk. How often hadn't he woken up in the mornings, suffering from a sore back and aching scars and old bullet wounds? Yohji wrinkled his nose at the thought, but then shrugged in defeat. He was on a good way to become a grandpa, and didn't have much choice in the matter.

With a wry look, Yohji eyed the cigarette pack on the table and made a face, then shook his head. Those probably didn't help the matter, but it was too late. And besides, it was either his looks and age, or his sanity.

Ken stood up and brought his dish to the sink, quickly washing and drying it before he put it away. No need to have it piling up, they had spent hours cleaning an already too neat house after all. Yohji followed him with his eyes as he went out and picked up a sports magazine before hurrying upstairs. Sports were boring enough to play, he couldn't comprehend how it was possible to _read_ about it as well, but that was their Ken for you. Yohji remembered that at one point in his life, he used to like exercising. Now it was just duty, for Kritiker expected them to be in shape. The positive side was, of course, the pleased female audience.

Standing up, Yohji stretched his legs and walked out in their living room, purposely leaving his plate on the table. He was surprised enough to find out that he wasn't alone, and it kind of killed his plans about watching the TV while occupying the entire couch.

The redhead was reading, silent as the grave. He was curled up in the classic Fujimiya-pose ; long legs crossed and knees drawn up to his chest, as if he was in defense against some unseen enemies. The glasses were ever present, reflecting the light coming in through the window. Plain glasses, Yohji noted to himself. The narrow kind, with a boring metal frame. Matched his white shirt and the casual denim jeans.

Yohji found himself leaning on the doorstep with one hand resting on his hip, examining the obstacle until Aya lifted his head and eyed him with a small frown. It lasted for a moment or two, before the attention was taken off Yohji and given to the book again. So much for the warm greeting by their fourth family member.

As he realized he wouldn't get more attention than that, Yohji decided to take fate in his own hands and coughed to clear his throat. Then he walked up to Aya, greeting him casually. It didn't seem like the redhead expected to be spoken to, because he lifted his head with a raised eyebrow.

"There is a note for you." Yohji said in a matter-of-factly voice and placed the small, white slip of paper on the table, watching as Aya stretched out his hand to take it. He seemed to look at it for a moment, before dropping it. Without as much as a thank you, he went back to reading his interesting book. Yohji ran a hand through his hair. He remembered how he used to pester stray cats in the neighborhood as a kid, poking them with a stick until they hissed at him, but discarded the idea of settling down uninvited beside mister Ferocious here. Instead, he took a few paces across the room, finding a comfortable spot by the window.

Damn but if the house wasn't neat. Not a single spot could be found anywhere, despite the fact that they would run in without taking off their shoes on busy workdays at the flower shop, or the fact that they would limp inside, wounded and bleeding all over after a mission gone bad.

Ken had done an excellent job vacuuming and mopping the floor, as usual. Their carpets were, much conveniently, in dark colors. That way, it was easier to hide stains that were harder to remove. Yohji looked at the carpet in front of him, knowing it had seen quite a few interesting things since being handed to them by Kritiker. Everyone in the group left their impressions on it, be it Ken's cocoa or Aya's blood. Now that it was mentioned, Yohji was pretty sure he'd left something else on it once, never quite making it to the bedroom that night. He was smart enough to clean it up himself afterwards, as he'd rather not have the youngest Weiss member involved in the affair.

But Omi was devoted to cleaning the carpets, just like he was concerning everything else. Even close up, one couldn't notice that these carpets had been suffering much. And every time one of them stepped on it with their shoes on, Omi would give a high-pitched whine, worse than any alarm on earth.

"Kudoh."

Yohji blinked, turning around from the window. The hell? As far as he knew, they all went by their first names in this house, and no one had ever told him otherwise. He regarded Aya for a moment, raising an eyebrow when he was only met with a cold, hard glare.

"That's me, yeah. What's up, Aya?"

The redhead didn't put away his book, eyeing Yohji up and down a few times before looking him straight in the eyes.

"If you _ever_ leave a mess in the laundry room and it has to be cleaned up, I will personally deal with you. Make sure it won't happen again."

The voice was flat and impassive; Aya didn't bother to look at him to check if the message had come across properly. Yohji just stood there with his mouth half-open, not entirely sure he was following. Mess? Laundry room? Well, their back entrance was connected to the laundry room, where they threw their dirty clothes in a large heap. Tidiness had its limits, and none of the four boys bothered to sort the clothes _before_ they were washed. Yohji could recall that he had used the entrance many times in the middle of the night… could even recall that he had ended up in the pile of clothes with an overeager lady… that was quite recently, in fact. But mess? That couldn't have been his mess anyway. He suddenly remembered that the lady had thrown up sometime during that night, not having Yohji's endurance for alcohol. And he had been trying to clean up, but doing any cleaning when the whole room was wobbly was probably not very effective. Instead, Aya had most likely gotten a very nasty surprise when Omi sent him down. There, that must have been it.

Yohji's confused face turned into one of annoyance. He knew more than well enough that he should have let it pass, giving Aya some apology and keeping the warning in mind so he wouldn't repeat it. But for some reason, Yohji found out he would feel way guiltier if it had been Omi cleaning that up. With Aya, it didn't really matter. So he decided on replying something else.

"Afraid to get a little dirt under your nails, _Fujimiya?_ Should have thought about that before you took up the katana, I think."

Wow, that came out more malicious than he had intended. Had Ken put something in his coke or what? He'd been making a great work of avoiding these verbal clashes with their silent cactus for months, and suddenly his mouth spit out that as if it acted on its own accord. Aya looked up slowly, meeting his teasing smirk with a frown. He waited a moment, before looking down again and turning a page.

"Don't speak to me of dirt, Kudoh. I'm not the one who lives the pathetic nightlife of a whore."

The voice was still impassive. Yohji started picking on the petals of a flower standing on their windowsill, looking outside. He chuckled and ripped out one of the pink petals, rolling it between his fingers. It was too late to withdraw now, and when he thought about it, he realized that he didn't want to either. Aya could make his blood boil by just moving those lips of his, he didn't need to back off and take it.

"My my, are you envious? That's quite a shame actually, as we're constantly surrounded by women at our daytime work. Unless you're hiding something that would make a man feel pity for you, you could easily hook up with an admirer anytime."

Aya flipped another page. He seemed to be reading twice as fast now, licking his finger briefly as he went on.

"Envious of a man who sleeps with every female being on two legs, chasing a ghost of the past? Wrong guess, Kudoh."

Well, ouch.

That one stung, a definite low blow even by Aya's standards. Yohji wasn't affected immediately, too surprised at first. But then, he turned abruptly, voice raised loud enough to alert the two boys upstairs. Goodbye control.

"Fuck you, Aya! If everything bothers you here so much, then why don't you just get your ass out? You have no idea how much of a relief it would be!"

Aya looked at him as if he had asked a very stupid thing. He read another line or two before he decided it was worth to answer, probably feeling that Yohji deserved the mercy of enlightenment after all.

"Weiss." He said simply. "Missions, the money for my sister. Nothing else."

Yohji laughed then, taking off his shades before he placed them on the windowsill. He walked towards the couch, finding a spot between the table and an armchair.

"Weiss?" He said, his voice containing clear disbelief. "We are Weiss." He pointed at himself, then in the direction of the stairs. "_You_, however, are not Weiss. You are nothing, Fujimiya, but a painful thorn in the side of everyone you come across. Ken, Omi and I are Weiss! You don't even know the true meaning of the word, locking yourself up in your own room and happily ignoring our existence when you don't need us. So fuck you, Aya. Don't get the wrong ideas."

He was yelling now and didn't care. But the effect wasn't there. Aya was staring at him with the typical "tell-me-something-new" look of his. He stared at Yohji for a while to see if the other male was done, before looking down once again.

It was frustrating as all hell. Yohji glared down at Aya as if he was some kind of snake, wondering if it was possible to despise someone as much as he despised him that very moment. If he had his wires here, he knew it could never have ended in a good way. He could scream or hiss or roar and none of his words ever reached that prick on their couch. And while Aya didn't even need to lift a finger to set Yohji off, his counters would be deflected with ease. It just wasn't fair. Yohji's lips drew into a tight line. Fairness could go and fuck itself. If Aya wanted to play rough, there was no reason for him to hold back either.

With an elaborate sigh, Yohji turned to the window and folded his hands behind him. It was still quite bright outside, as if the sun had no plans of setting tonight. A young lady passed on the opposite side of the pavement, the wind playing with her scarf.

"You shouldn't speak of pathetic, Aya." He began, suddenly wearing a very innocent expression. "If we're picking up on that topic, then what would you call a man who decided to waste away his life on some half-dead corpse in the hospital? It's quite sad actually. There are real girls running out there, and all he cares about is a lifeless _thing_ that doesn't seem to plan on waking up, just because it gains him to play the victimized hero."

There. It was said, if not in the nicest way possible. Yohji knew the blow was coming, he knew already as the last word left his mouth. He just badly misjudged the swiftness. There was hardly enough time to turn halfway to face the threat, before fierce pain exploded across his chest and the world went white for a moment. He lost his balance, the impact throwing him backwards over the chair, and he wasn't even present enough to prevent his head from slamming into the floor with a jarring force.

It all went so fast. Yohji wasn't even aware of the flow of events until he realized he was on the floor with his legs in the air, supported by their armchair. Aya was merely inches from his face, barely restrained by a screaming Ken. Omi was there too, staring at him with wide eyes.

Yohji blinked. Blinked, then tried to gulp in some air. Ken was the only one who made any noise; Aya was silent, apart from the grunts he made as he fought to free himself. Yohji squirmed to put enough distance between him and Aya before he dared to stand up. Omi was still staring at him, his hands tightened into fists.

"Now what?" He said simply, locking his watering eyes on Yohji. The voice held a painful mix of anger and misery. When no answer came after several endless moments, he promptly turned around and walked away. Ken had managed to calm Aya down, but the man kept staring at Yohji still, eyes full of disbelief and promises of death. Then, he too whirled around and ran upstairs without as much as another word. For a moment, the only sound that could be heard was the heavy breathing of the two remaining men as they waited. But nothing more happened. Aya didn't come down to go berserk with his katana or what worse was. Finally, Ken turned to him, accusation written all over his face.

"Nice job." He muttered, turning his back to the oldest Weiss member before he hesitantly started walking upstairs.

Yohji was left behind, still collecting himself and standing like an idiot in the middle of the room. He lifted his hand hesitantly and rubbed his chest, before bringing it up to touch his bleeding nose. Until five minutes ago, he hadn't been aware of that it was even possible to move at such inhuman speed. Well, he was aware now, for what it was worth. Blinking the last black spots out of his vision, Yohji picked up the lighter that had fallen out of his pocket and marched into the hallway, slamming the entrance door shut with all his strenght.


	2. Chapter 2

---

Alcohol. 

Alcohol, a bar chair and then some. Yohji Kudoh didn't plan on sleeping home tonight.

He drove like mad; way over the speed limit, and couldn't care less. It all became a blur anyway. The colors of the cars merged with the trees on the sides of the highway, and his shades didn't provide much actual protection against the red evening sun. He could have been driving with a blindfold if he wanted, but then he would miss out a potential beautiful hitchhiker. Oh, right. And he would probably be reported too. Quite fast.

My, how things had gotten out of hand within the time-span of fifteen minutes. And it started as such a nice weekend too.

It was typical, of course. Through life, Yohji had found that fate would turn around to bite his ass when he less expected it. One moment, she had been there. The next moment, she was gone forever. All within ten seconds. And after that, things just repeated themselves. One moment, they were sitting in their kitchen and laughing of Ken's lame joke. The next moment, they would be sitting in the basement, staring at pictures of men that would die by their hands.

But no…

Yohji frowned as he pushed the gas pedal further down. No, this hadn't been a coincidence. The tension had been there all the time; he saw it clearly now. Omi's cheerful smiles, the clean house, knowing there was only a question of time before they got a new assignment… it had been too much. Finding an icy Aya on the couch, without the two other boys to act as buffers, had been too fucking _much._ They had been living under a temporary peace agreement, strained to its limits. And now it was shattered to pieces.

Perhaps he had been more tolerant before, when Aya was still seeking revenge or retrieving his sister from Schwartz. But goals had been reached, and nothing changed. Aya Fujimiya kept being his bad old self. On the contrary, all he seemed to wait for was his sister to wake up so he could rip out the page of his book that contained Weiss, and wipe his ass with it.

If Yohji hadn't been sitting in his beloved car at that moment, he would promptly spit on the ground.  
Man, if that guy wasn't getting to him. Aya was a major source for irritation. A major one. It had to be karma again. After the death of Neu, which in his mind would always be Asuka, Yohji hadn't been able to feel very much, and never anything very deep. It was like someone had covered his soul with flour, leaving everything tasteless and blank. He no longer felt the same, secret dread when a mission was announced. He no longer felt the same ecstasy when lying in a woman's arms. He didn't even feel anything when his strings cut a man's life short – it had become, much to his terror, a routine.

The only, small times he could feel any spark of emotion at all, was when he watched Omi and Ken fight playfully over the remote control or when the kid would look him straight in the eyes and laugh. A spark of wistful sadness that would last for a fleeting moment, before it was gone.

But Aya, being the fucker he was, made him _feel_ like no one else. Too bad it was the kind of emotions that gave Yohji the urge to strangle him. Before had had met the redhead, he only laughed of the phrase "human icicle". But now he had been forced to accept - with not too little bitterness - the existence of such a being. And it wasn't a pretty sight. 

There was a road shoulder ahead. Slowing down, he took to the right, letting the Seven slide smoothly in before he stopped her completely. Once she finally calmed down, he let the engine die and stroke his hand over the dashboard in a gentle caress. Then, he leaned over, letting his chin rest on his arms as he squinted towards the sun.

Oh, Asuka, this wasn't even funny anymore. Yohji put up his most miserable expression and stared at the shimmering ocean on his left. It was all silvery-yellow now, as it used to be when he attempted monkey-driving and hoped to die in a car crash. Since when had things turned out like this for him? It was strange, strange to remember that he once had a _complete_ life. Never a perfect one, but a very complete one. His job hadn't been a perfect one; his life being constantly at stake. But it had given him an adrenaline kick like nothing else. And Asuka hadn't been a perfect girl, as she could use her fists eagerly to get her message across. But she had been Asuka. 

Before Neu, he used to imagine that Asuka was somewhere up there, laughing of him and scolding him in his moments of weakness. It kept him going, but it was gone now. What was left now was an image of a loved one, shattered to pieces he could never collect again.

He should have let Neu kill him back then. Yohji sighed softly, wondering if a day would pass without him having to regret it. Without regretting being alive, when he had learned that the very soul of the being he loved had been killed. But he hadn't been able to give in. Not when Aya had been losing to that dark-haired woman, and Omi had been dying in Ken's arms…

Another sigh. No man should have been forced to take such a choice, and then having the scene played over and over in his head - day in and day out. Perhaps he had sacrificed more for Weiss than anyone could imagine. He stretched for his faithful cigarette pack and pulled out another cancer stick. At least they would shorten his life quite considerably. If one really lost seven minutes of life for each cigarette one smoked, Yohji would die quite young.

See? There was cheap ways out of everything. Legal suicide.

The sun slowly disappeared, and the illusion of a silver ocean went with it. He took a last drag of the cigarette and let it fall, watching the red embers for a moment. Then, he pulled himself back into the driver's seat and turned the key. At least this time he wouldn't drive like a maniac, feeling considerably calmer. Yohji didn't know if it was a good thing or not; the hot aftermath of a fight with their redheaded bastard was replaced by a dull, frosty feeling in his gut. That's what you get for reminiscing Asuka, he told himself. Oh well, alcohol would take care of the little problem. It always did.

He was soon on the highway again, watching yellow lights flash past him. Funny how he always had his focus anywhere else but on the road. Sometimes, it was the cell phone that kept him occupied. Sometimes music. Sometimes, he would simply be daydreaming about everything and nothing.

The cell phone, yeah…

Yohji's mouth formed a small circle as he stuck his one free hand in the coat pocket, fishing up the said item. The screen was dark; it took him a little fumbling before he managed to press the right button. Five messages waited for him: From Mika, Sumi, Yoko, Machiko and Ayame-chan.

Nothing from … anyone else. Yohji blinked, wondering why on earth he expected anything from Omi or Ken. They wouldn't message him for chit-chat. Messages from his team would usually sound something like "Yohji, get home. Birman is here" or "Yohji, please pick up a carton of milk on your way home. See you!" Aya wouldn't send him anything at all.

Scratching his cheek, Yohji pressed the menu button. Did he even have Aya's cell phone number? Nothing could be found under "A", so he navigated down to "F". Apparently, he hadn't bothered to register it. Yohji looked absently through the rest of his lists. They were records of his private life, as he didn't care to delete the numbers of his former lovers. There were also lots of random numbers, numbers to some of the Kritiker agents and takeaway restaurants… His gaze stopped on "C" for a second, before a grin appeared on his face.

Cactus… yep, seemingly he had gotten Aya's number after all. Now that he thought about it, he also remembered that all of the Weiss members had shared their numbers in case of emergency. It had been a very urging suggestion by Manx. As for the cactus part… well, he had his immature moments too, what could he say? It had started as a private conversation in the flower shop with Ken a while ago, when they joked about Omi being the sunflower and Yohji being the orchid and so on. Since then, Aya had gotten his secret nickname. A name they by no means used in Aya's presence – of course because Omi would then start a lecture on bullying too – but when he was safely out of reach, it could easily slip. Although, Yohji kind of missed the point when Aya didn't know anything, so he had tried to expand their joke once.

It had not been very successful. Aya didn't quite seem to catch the idea when he received a large, green, phallus-like cactus on his birthday. Or perhaps he didn't show it. Was quite hard to tell when the man walked around with the face of a stone. Omi hadn't been pleased either, casting apologizing glances at Aya with blushing cheeks, overly embarrassed by the two remaining team mates. Only Ken and he had gotten a kick out of it; the former soccer player falling on the couch with a roaring laughter.

Birthdays were something Omi took with deadly seriousness. They celebrated Christmas and Thanksgiving too, for that matter, and Yohji wondered how many western customs they would have to adopt before the boy was satisfied. But birthdays were highly rated in Weiss; it was their way of showing each member a little special attention. Yohji didn't mind, it gave good opportunities for gag gifts. How often hadn't he given Omi something sparkly and pornographic, making the boy's blood pressure rise considerably? Ken loved them too, he was easy to amuse. Gag gifts didn't seem to coax any reaction from Aya though, but then again, the man never laughed.

It was typical that Omi had whined until even Aya told them when his birthday was. That's how Yohji learned that he was, in fact, older than the redheaded shit. Not that age meant anything in their profession; guns didn't distinguish between young and old. And with the stunts Aya liked to pull, it wouldn't come as any big surprise if he didn't make it one day.

Shaking his head, Yohji stood outside of the club for a moment before he gathered himself enough to enter. He had arrived at his favorite place; the Seven being safely parked a little further away. The loud music greeted him with the usual promise of an exciting night. People were dancing, bodies pressed against bodies, arms and legs all over. Some were elegant, some were humping around as if they had never heard of rhythm before. Yohji would probably find himself doing the same soon enough. He liked to dance, usually accompanied by someone he could touch, someone warm and slender beneath his hands. And in the dark, he didn't always see their faces even. For small moments at a time, he could just pretend the other body was Asuka's…

The thought brought back Aya's words to him, the truth of them stung enough for him to shove Asuka firmly out of his mind. Here he was, and he damn well had plans of dancing tonight. He just needed a little alcohol in his system first. A little persuasion. Walking across the floor while avoiding the dancing people, Yohji scanned the bar desk in front of him. Most chairs were empty, as if reserved for him. A few were taken, a lone woman occupying one. Yohji looked at her back, brushing a hand through his hair again. It was a sight to behold; she had the right curves, only covered by a rather revealing dress. Also, her hair was straight and blonde, almost reaching her abdomen. Plain hair, good. Yohji had found himself being quite selective when picking women lately, making sure they didn't remind him of the more bothersome ex-lovers or worse – the Schreient. These were his usual standards. Tonight, Yohji would gladly pick up anything, as long as it wasn't a redhead. 

He almost laughed of himself, stepping out of the way for a dancing couple. If just as much as thinking of the color red made him wrinkle his nose in dismay, it had to be bad. Yohji suddenly saw an image of himself as a bull from Omi's cartoons, going into frenzy as soon as someone waved a red cloth in front of his face.

Yes, the kid watched cartoons. It was the same routine every morning. Omi would turn on the TV in the kitchen while they ate their breakfast, with the excuse of watching the morning news. As soon as the commercials kicked in, he would switch the channel and put on the cartoons. Ken would complain loudly over how childish Omi was, not taking his eyes off the screen. And so it would go on, all three of them laughing and choking on their food, until Aya would come down and announce that Omi was going to be late for school.

It was something extremely relieving about cartoons. Perhaps it was the ridiculous idea of a duck being repeatedly whacked on the head with a frying pan only to stand up and run without a scratch, or a rabbit being thrown into boiling water only to jump up and beat the hunter with karate moves. He didn't know, but he loved it. If life had been like that, there wouldn't have been any need for Weiss.

Yohji realized he was still standing on the floor, staring dumbly in front of himself. Why was he thinking about this crap anyway? Aya could go to hell tonight, so could Ken and Omi. Why did the kid always turn his accusations to him, when they all knew what Aya could be like? It was anything but fair, but this wasn't the time to brood over it. And he didn't want to think about them.

Deciding that he had done enough thinking for today in general, Yohji put on a sexy smile and walked over to the woman he had been watching.

She seemed delicious from his standing point back there, but when he approached her, the smile was replaced by a grimace of disappointment. Her dress, her makeup, her boobs gave her away immediately – Yohji had found a whore.

Instead of opening his mouth and present a charming opening line as he usually would, he took a step back. How much shit luck could one have in one day? Whores were out of his league. Well, normally, he wasn't the type to care much about the quality of women. But tonight his nerves were already rather tattered, and he found it somewhat degrading that he would have to _pay_ for the sex too. No, the woman was out of question. He'd rather hunt a little longer, if fate allowed it.

She seemed to notice his insecurity though, because she turned to him and put away her cigarette in a very professional manner. There wasn't any business-like flick of interest in her face, she seemed rather bored. After looking at him until she was satisfied, she let one hand cup her face and placed the elbow on the counter. 

"You look … a little lost."

Her voice was rough, no doubt because of too many smokes. Yohji saw that she was pretty enough, but considerably older than him. For a moment, he was wondering if he was staring at a female version of himself, but pushed the thought away before Aya's words could get to him again.  
However, he wasn't about to ignore a challenge.

"Yeah. I… ran away from home. Been a bad boy, I guess."

The voice lacked the desired meaning; it was too close to the truth. Yohji looked at her with a half-embarrassed expression, before sliding down in the chair she had taken out for him. She chuckled, seemingly having lost interest in watching him. Instead, she looked at the bottles behind the counter, stumping her cigarette. Probably had seen enough men for a lifetime, Yohji decided, and wasn't about to give him special treatment. He sincerely pulled out a new cigarette and offered it to her with a smile.

"Welcome to the club." She simply answered, giving him a wry smile before the fingers with the painted nails snatched the treat away. Inhaling, she looked over her shoulder once, before turning back.

"What brand?"

Yohji blinked, not used to get the question. He supposed they needed something to talk about, but that was indeed a new approach. Not a bad one even, if only he knew what to answer.

"Eh… whatever they got at the supermarket. I'm not very picky…" He paused, lifting the box to check for sure.

"This one is a Mild Seven though. I suppose I like them…"

She nodded, looking rather distant as she held the cigarette between her index and middle finger. Long fingers, slender. She looked almost malnourished, but still fairly neat to be a prostitute. Yohji had seen quite a few in his life, and this one had neither visible bruises nor badly hidden dirt in her face. Her makeup was a little extravagant, but it seemed to be standard in that kind of business.

"So…" She paused for a moment, looking impassively at him. Yohji liked her already; she hadn't been tying herself to his neck the very moment she saw him, marking him as a possible customer. The lack of interest had been mutual, it pleased him.

The prostitute was about to speak again, but changed her mind when she looked over her shoulder. A man was staring at them, Yohji noticed. He wore the all-too-classic suit, raising his hand to adjust his necktie without taking his eyes off them. The woman beside him shuddered, making a grimace. Yohji turned back, smiling lazily.

"Let's get out of here, shall we?"

She gave him a small nod, grabbing her purse before she whirled around. Yohji stood up as well. He had ordered a drink somewhere in the process of their talk, but he figured he could just take it with him. They made their way out, navigating through the dancing people with feline elegance. Too bad for the businessman. One way or another, Yohji decided that this one would be his company tonight.

They snuck outside, being met with a considerably colder atmosphere than what could be found inside the overheated club. Autumn stars sparkled, fighting through light pollution. The woman looked up as well, standing on the pavement in her high-heeled shoes. She didn't seem to be much affected by the cold, except from the first, inescapable shiver. Yohji looked silently at her for a moment, waiting for her to take on the jacket she had been carrying on her arm. No more words were exchanged as they started walking, but it was fine with him.

This silence wasn't loaded with unsaid words, it held no discomfort. He wasn't even sure where they were going, until he saw dark water illuminated by artificial lights. The pier.

Fancy. Piers weren't the nicest area in town; he had learned that well enough when he and Asuka had been investigating them in the middle of the night. Interesting how running around a place that smelled of fish and piss could be much more romantic than any walk on the beach in moonlight. And now, he was walking here with a random prostitute. 

"So… you ran away, huh?"

Her voice cut through the silence and the usual night sounds of scrambling cats and far-off cars. Yohji turned to her, seeing that she was observing him as they walked. The lips were curled into a grin, but her eyes were dead, giving him no answer to anything. He hesitated a little.

"Things got… heated up." 

Something in his voice must have made her chuckle, a rather pleasant sound despite the roughness.

"Does it make things better for her that you're not coming home tonight?"

Yohji sighed, eyes partly closed. He didn't turn to look at the woman.

"Was no she…" He murmured absently, exhaling the last bit of smoke before he threw another cigarette butt on the asphalt. Gods, did he even have any pauses in between each cigarette tonight? This was going to burn holes in his wallet if he kept it up. Not that mattered.

"I live with a group of students." He added, before his companion got any wrong ideas. Yohji Kudoh was straight to the core, and quite proud of it. Excitement could be found within the female gender if one was just creative enough, he had never been tempted to experiment.

"Students." She repeated, looking up at him. His shoulders slumped in defeat. Omi was the liar among them, not he. Omi was the one who could make up a cake and lie the taste into a listener's mouth. Omi was the one who could make up elaborate stories that everyone believed in. Yohji could only reproduce them.

"Yeah… three of them. Well, one dropped out, so he is working full-time." Yohji thought of Ken. To say that Ken was a student would be like claiming the moon was made out of cheese.

"We work at a flower shop… to pay the rent for the house… and…"

It was pointless, he gave up even trying. She could believe what she wanted, there was no reason for him to care.

"A flower shop…" She said it like it was the cutest thing she'd heard in a while. Yohji scowled. Of all things, Kritiker had to pick a flower shop for their cover. A flower shop. At this rate, males would start hitting on him soon enough. Wait, that had already happened, much to Ken's amusement. He sighed for the tenth time tonight.

"One of them is… we don't go along lately. Well, we never went along to begin with."

"He doesn't go along with anyone." Yohji added with a small sneer, hands unconsciously tightening into fists. The woman looked at him, placing a finger to her painted lips.

"A loner?"

He turned to face her, wearing an expression of defeat. "A fuckhole."

"I see. And you live with them? Why don't you move home?"

Yohji looked up, folding his hands behind his back. He had no chance against her, but it didn't come as any surprise. He had learned that lesson a long time ago, there were few more wise people than those that lived on the streets.

"My parents probably don't even remember they have a son." It came without emotion. Yohji had for many years regarded himself as independent; it felt strange to be reminded of that someone had actually _worked_ for his existence.

The pier was empty, not a soul had passed them since they escaped the club. He started to feel cold, still looking at the dead ocean. Black water, covered by layers of ugly gold here and there. He thought he could hear a drug addict groan in a corner close by. Laugher too, but that was far off. The kind of laugher the city was filled with at night, unrestrained and loud. When humor was poured down your throat, the talk would never still.

"What about you?"

The woman's expression didn't change. She seemed to look for something in her purse, pulling out a small tube before she started to coat her lips with it. Yohji wondered why he bothered to ask; it wasn't a question you gave a prostitute.

"My home didn't last very long, so to say."

She refused to look at him, not caring whether he would take offense by her obvious lack of interest in him or not. Eye contact would break the emotionless air, they both knew it.

"The usual, you know? Parents died when I was about ten or twelve. A family adopted me; they were close friends of us."

Yohji nodded. It seemed to be a known cliché; the calamity would always strike perfect homes with loving parents and obedient, happy children.

"I didn't want to accept that. They weren't my parents, it wasn't my home. I didn't need to listen to them. Apparently, they thought otherwise. I ran away, ended up on the streets. The rest is, as they say, history."

She smiled, he could see that despite the darkness that separated them from each other. Yohji kept walking and counting steps. A can was lying in his way; he kicked it away and listened to the hollow, metallic clank. She suddenly went a little ahead of him, turning to face him with the same anonymous smile.

"You know… I got to work. Boss ain't going to be happy if I keep useless company."

He stood there, watching as she took off her jacket. As the bracelet around her wrist made a jingle. She raised a hand and waved. Didn't even bother to look at him as she started to walk away. Following the street lamps, going in the direction of the busy streets. Alone.

"Go home, kid. It's getting late."

---

Yohji knew he would be confronted sooner or later. It had been days since his little clash with Aya. Since then, the situation in their house hadn't exactly changed. Things had gone more silent, as strange as it sounded. Omi suddenly had much more homework than usual, or perhaps the little data genius worked on some Kritiker assignment. Ken would talk to him - in a plain, wooden voice. And the redhead… was barely seen at all. Aya would wake up early, conjure his own, obviously thrifty breakfast, and then disappear from sight for most of the day. Barely a word of his would be said to the other Weiss members; Yohji wouldn't even be graced with a simple glance.

And now Omi was glaring bullets at him.

He put away his slice of bread, looking down at the white plate for a moment. The sunlight was slipping in between the curtains and irritated his eyes, he had to squint and make a grimace when he looked up at the boy again.

"What did you say to him, Yohji?"

The expression on Omi's face was a good combination of childish indignation and genuine worry. They just finished breakfast, and Ken ran out to make deliveries while Aya was without doubt checking on some plants before they opened the store. Yohji for his part arrived late enough to be served a few leftover slices of bread and lukewarm tea. Now they were alone. And it was obvious that Omi had planned this, effectively trapping him.

"Yohji."

"I said…"

He paused. Omi, cute face or not, could be the worst interrogator the world had seen. The kid could have a career going there, if cute eyes and deadly voice had the same effect on others than him. And Yohji was far from soft-hearted. He looked up, slamming his palm on the table with a dull thud.

"Look, whatever I said to him – it was deserved. You know how Aya is, it's just impossible to …"

"He won't talk to us, Yohji!"

Omi looked up as well, almost knocking over his tea cup when he put down his arm. He could only answer that with a grunt to that. Aya was going at it again, punishing the other team mates because of Yohji's words. If he had to be declared a non-member of Weiss, he did his best showing it. And now he was completely closing himself off again, being even worse than when his sister had been taken. He hadn't even told Omi what provoked the violent reaction they had witnessed in their living room, leaving Yohji completely to the boy's mercy. Of course, that left him with all the blame as well.

"I told him that he should give up dedicating his life to a comatose patient that has been gone for years. There is no guarantee that she'll ever wake up…"

A small gasp cut him off, Omi staring with wide eyes as he stood up.

"You mentioned his sister!?"

Yohji shrugged. "Omi, he deserved to be told off. Truth hurts, but so does his attitude. He's like a fucking wall of ice. Can you deny that?"

Omi's lip quivered, Yohji could swear it happened. The kid didn't seem to be persuaded with his attempt at justifying himself either. Then again, he never was. Here was Yohji Kudoh, the scapegoat for all misery in the world. Or at least when it came to broken hearts, cigarette butts in the flowerpots… and Aya.

"You're going to apologize."

It was a statement. No question, not even a suggestion. A statement that left no room for objections, Yohji knew that as well as he knew his own name. He just wished Omi wouldn't do this, wouldn't care so much that his motherly concern almost suffocated them all. Omi wasn't their mother. Omi wasn't responsible for what was going on in their house. He felt like telling that to the kid as well. Felt like telling him everything; that his idiotic family game was all bullshit, no matter how much his little mind thought otherwise. Felt like telling him that they were just assassins, co-workers… 

_Friends._

Were they friends? Omi and Ken and he were. That's why he nodded instead, keeping his mouth sealed. The scowl was there, but he didn't protest. Omi was now picking up his school bag, the uniform making him look even younger than he was. He walked over to the kitchen table and picked up his lunchbox before he sent Yohji a heavy glare. And then the playboy was left behind, watching their youngest member slip out the door before he closed it carefully.

Right.

Yohji brought up a hand to his forehead. Smoke, beat the living shit out of something, coffee. Not necessarily in that particular order. The better part of him knew that he should take a shower as well, but at the moment, he had no intentions of playing nice. In fact, he felt like doing something…_illegal._ Not illegal by national standards, hell no, he had done enough of that for a lifetime. Just some shit that would probably get him in trouble later, like stealing an energy bar from Ken's cookie jar or perhaps walk naked around the house.

Naked was good. Wake up late in the morning after a night of mind-blowing night of sex, walk naked down to the kitchen where his lover would make breakfast… and then get another round of sex.

With these thoughts in his mind, Yohji made his way upstairs again. The shower could go to hell, but he knew he would be damned if he showed up at work without even changing his shirt. His room was still dimly lit; he hadn't bothered to pull the curtains away. Certain things in life were just unnecessary. One of them was making up his bed. Why should he bother when he barely spent time in his room at all? If he did, he usually found himself – in – the bed anyway, as there were few other possibilities. He hadn't bothered with a laptop like Omi had, never finding computers particularly interesting. If anything, he could get his fair share of porn and music from their main computer in the basement. And if someone hacked it… well, then they would get a pleasant surprise when going through his folders.

Neither did he have any writing desk like Aya had. In all honesty, he was doing a bad job when it came to posing as a student. That left him with the bed. Bed meant sanctuary. Bed meant sex and nightmares and early mornings, dreams of the past interrupted by Omi's cheery "Wake up, Yohji-kun! Breakfast!" He also had posters, posters that would make Ken grin and Omi blush. And that's why he wouldn't pull away the curtains. The official owner of the flower shop, who usually sat in a rocking chair with a cat on her lap could suddenly get a bad idea and walk out in the backyard. Extraordinarily curious schoolgirls could sneak around there too, and peek inside. Those reasons did excuse his laziness; even Omi had nothing he should have said.

There was also a nightstand with an old lamp on it, and a drawer that contained most of what he didn't care to display openly. Items that were his, and his only. He didn't need anyone calling them "sentimental" or "perverted". He didn't need to have anyone questioning why he even owned these things.

Then finally, there was his closet, which Yohji approached as soon as he entered. Nothing there was sorted in any particular order, but it was folded neatly and ironed, much thanks to their youngest member. He pulled out a clean shirt, it was teal and plain. Would suit the mood, Yohji decided as he pulled off his dirty one and dropped it to the floor. He allowed himself a brief look in the mirror when he passed the bath, not being overly pleased by the result. He needed his good looks to attract customers, it wouldn't do if he looked like a badly done scarecrow when surrounded by giggling schoolgirls.

While carefully combing his hair with a comb he stole from the bathroom and would probably never put back, Yohji made his way downstairs and headed for the flower shop. The building they lived in consisted of two parts. Their private apartment was connected to the actual shop, which could be found in the front. A small glasshouse was attached on the right side of the building, where tons of plants and flowers needed gentle and time- consuming attention. Yohji preferred to stand behind the counter, at least it gave him the opportunity to relieve his boredom with a chat. Not that there was much silence to be bothered by. Sometimes, they would fall into a rhythm that could go on for hours while they worked. Omi would talk on autopilot, telling them every detail about his school, his friends there and how mean his English teacher could be. Ken sometimes started singing loudly. And if it hadn't been so incoherent , it surprisingly wasn't half-bad to listen to. 

Today, however, it seemed to become a _very_ silent day. Yohji decided that as soon as he entered the shop and saw Aya's back. Luck could only last for so long; it was strange that he had managed to escape a morning shift with the redhead for days already. The shop was open, but it was generally too early for customers. Yohji didn't see the point in opening before noon. The schoolgirls would come rushing in during their lunch break, and then they could just close again. That was his opinion anyway, but something told him Kritiker wouldn't share it.

He was making bouquet arrangements, someplace in the back. Yohji could see the orange sweater from a mile away. The ugly, large _thing_ that no man with even the slightest sense of fashion would even dream of wearing. Yohji had once wished that Ms Momoe's cat would piss on it and rip out a few threads, so Aya would have to throw it away. But again, wistful thinking. Aya was careful with his belongings to the point of obsession, it was impossible to find any discarded items around the house. Aya's items that was. He never left anything, as if being afraid to show the other members what he owned. What he liked. Except from those dry books and his laundry, they knew nothing about that irritating being. 

And now he was making bouquets, slender hands working with roses and lilies, completely lost in his own world. Yohji took a few steps back and forth, wondering where he should start when the store was empty. Perhaps if he waited long enough, a customer would appear and interrupt the task he had waiting. But then again, Omi would be furious. He had been lucky enough as it was, because the kid had to leave for school. Otherwise, Yohji assumed he would have been forced to listen to an hour-long tirade about how inconsiderate he was and how Aya was having a hard time. There was no escaping it, he _had_ to make the cactus start talking again. For Omi's sake. Only for Omi's sake.

Yohji walked over to the nearest shelf, looking at the flowerpots. They needed to be carried back to the glasshouse, but he wasn't supposed to leave the counter in case a customer barged in. Clearing his throat quietly, he took a deep breath and prepared himself.

"Aya, could you take these?"

The smaller male turned somewhere back there. He heard the faint sound of scissors being put down and then gentle footsteps before he appeared in the door. No words were said as he marched over to take the flowerpot from Yohji, then took the last one down with his free hand.

"I'm sorry."

It sounded more like 'Go fuck yourself'. Aya turned, every part of him promising slow death. He just nodded before strolling towards the back of the store again. Eyes narrow, anger barely kept at bay, Yohji turned to stare at the door while Aya brushed past him, as if a customer would appear if he only wished it hard enough. He had done it, so now everyone ought to be satisfied. It wasn't his problem that Aya had taken it as if Yohji had hissed an insult into his ear. If he could have it his way, Aya's forehead would have been introduced to the floor this very moment.

Gods but wasn't he an uptight one. Sometimes, Yohji would wonder what Aya's problem really was. A sister in comatose was no excuse. Not when Omi had lost his entire family, or when Ken had his career cancelled. And yet, here he was, pretending to be oh-so-much better than all of them and resorting to violence as soon as someone stepped on his tail.

Aya was fucking violent. Attempting to break his nose just because Yohji had been a little careless when phasing something that the redhead had to hear sooner or later was one thing. But from time to time, Yohji felt as if Aya killed out of fear. Out of the need to distance himself from their enemies and the world. They can't get you when they're dead, can they?

"Uncivilized asshole…" Yohji muttered to a nearby flower. The purple thing just hung its head, as if shrugging. Killing for Kritiker was different than killing because you were afraid of the world, but Aya seemed to still be at the neanderthal stage of evolution.

He didn't feel guilty in the least for his words to Aya. If that prick was to use Asuka as a weapon against him, there was no reason to hold back his own opinions on Aya's lifestyle. There were no damned excuses. All of them had come to terms with what they were. Killers, assassins. Tools for a secret organization. Only Aya liked to pretend that the life he lived wasn't his own. Only Aya liked to pretend he was some kind of martyr.

Fool. 

He did say sorry, and that was the end of it. A mission would force the redhead to talk again, and if not… well, Omi and Ken would eventually get over it. He personally doubted they would notice it very much if Aya disappeared. If anything, things would finally get less awkward.

The bell jingled as the door opened, and a lady entered. Yohji grinned when she started to look around, keeping a hand close to her chest as if she was troubled by being here. He walked towards her, hands on his hips. She had to lift her head considerably to look at his face, a small blush appearing when she noticed his gentle smile.

"Hey miss. How can I help you?"

Her dress was a soft tone of peach, matching her golden skin and pink cherry earrings. She suddenly looked uncertain, her eyes darting from the white lilies on her left to the freesias on the counter.

"Um… I need a small flower bouquet… nothing big, just a…"

Yohji chuckled. "I think we can fix that, miss. There is nothing we cannot make here, as long as it involves flowers. What kind would you like?"

She placed a hand on her cheek. There was a mix of excitement and happiness in her eyes, but it took her a moment to dare to ask what Yohji already expected to hear.

"It's for a date…"

"For a date." Yohji repeated in a professional voice, not losing his smile. His gaze wandered around the store while he scratched his cheek.

"Let me see… roses always do well, but the calendula is a symbol of joy…"

He started to walk around, taking out single flowers from the metal containers on the floor, and she followed him around like a puppy. Apparently, she had never heard that flowers held so much meaning, and soon Yohji found himself explaning the flower language of about every flower she could see.

"And that one?"

"That's an iris. It stands for faith, hope, wisdom and valor."

She looked up at him with clear admiration in those sparkly eyes. Whoever had a date with this one, was a very lucky guy, Yohji decided. Unless he was a florist.

"You know so much about flowers, sir."

He laughed and stuck his hand in his pocket, just to make sure he hadn't forgotten the cigarette pack.

"Well, I am a florist." He handed her the bouquet he prepared, not as small as the girl originally had wanted. Now that she had learned something about flowers, it seemed like she tried to convey every feeling she had through the bouquet. There was no doubt that she would tell her chosen one about the meaning of each flower as well. Poor thing.

"It's a profession that requires gentle hands, and lots and lots of of care." He bent down to reach her eye-level before he produced a white carnation and gave it to her. She blushed, taking it with her left hand as she already cradled the large bouquet with her other. He gave her a wink.

"This one means sweet and lovely. Innocent."

There, her cheeks could have matched any red rose in the store now. Yohji laughed inwardly when she hurried out of the store, watching her back. He barely had the time to start fumbling for a cigarette before the bell jingled again. It seemed to become a busy day.

---

---

It was quite dark when Yohji finally got home, his stomach warmed by a pleasant amount of alcohol. Dark, and completely quiet, for Omi and Ken were surely seeing their seventh dream by now.

He closed the door gently and stepped into the dim hallway, using a minute to kick off his shoes. As strange as it sounded, he was sober enough to want a late snack before going to bed. Usually, he was considerate enough to avoid the kitchen when he came home at this hour, since things tended to break when he handled them. He remembered the one time when went to eat after a rather lively night at his favorite club. All of the three Weiss members had been running down with their weapons drawn, assuming burglars had broken in.

In retrospect, Yohji had been worried about the safety of a possible thief who could be stupid enough to break in at the Koneko. There had been stories in the newspapers about thieves being shot by a desperate family father, but he was pretty sure that no thief in the world was prepared to be attacked by darts, claws and a fucking katana.

But then again, the thief who would break into a simple flower shop had to either be very bored, or exceptionally dumb. Who would want to steal flowers or pocket money from schoolgirls? Either way, it would be a once-in-a-lifetime experience for the unfortunate man, even if he wasn't accidently killed. At least he wouldn't repeat it. No one could possibly want to be introduced to four assassins roused from their sleep twice.

Making his way to the kitchen, Yohji carefully opened the fridge and peered inside. The light blinded him for a moment, a sharp contrast to the dark surroundings his eyes were used to. There wasn't much to choose from; fruits didn't appeal to him, and anything else would take too long to prepare. Yohji settled for leftovers from the dinner, neatly placed in a bowl and covered with plastic. Rice it was then, with slices of meat and a sauce he didn't know the name of.

He placed the bowl in their microwave oven and waited. It had been a good night. Not an outrageous one, but a good one. He had a date with Mika, and those usually included a sappy movie, a nice dinner accompanied by their fair share of alcohol, and sex on the couch. He didn't stay over at her place though, he never did. Perhaps next time he would take her out to dance, and then they could sleep over at his house. One day when he didn't have to work early, so they would have time for cuddling before she left.

The microwave oven started to beep, cancelling his plans. He took out the bowl and almost dropped it instantly with a hiss. Why did it get so searing warm? It wasn't supposed to. Licking his finger, he went over to pick up a cloth so he could at least take the bowl out. Was he already making too much noise? Nothing could be heard upstairs, so he assumed he was fine. Still, it seemed less than tempting to sit down and eat here. He longed for his bed, and there was no rule against taking food upstairs. If there was, he could just go for putting up an innocent face again.

After taking the decision of eating in his own room, Yohji snuck towards the stairs. They could start creaking at the most inconvenient times, so he had to tread softly and pay attention.  
One step, two… this was going well so far. He was rather proud when he reached the top, usually not able to climb the stairs with a hot bowl of food after a night out. Especially not without waking up anyone.

He took his regular inspection of his other team members on the way to his own room. Perhaps Omi was asleep behind his computer again, or perhaps Ken forgot to turn off the lamp on his nightstand. Yohji smiled at the thought as he closed Ken's door. Their tough football supporter was asleep, hugging his own pillow. There were several trophies on his shelves, probably won when he was still kicking a ball around instead of slicing up people. Ken also owned a football which was not to be touched, though none of them knew the reason. All Yohji knew was that Omi wasn't even allowed to bring it for their tournament at school. That spoke for itself. 

Then there was the room Yohji usually passed without a second thought, simply because it had been locked the few times he tried to open it. Aya locked the door to his room as if he feared an enemy could burst in anytime, giving him yet another reason to be annoyed with the redhead. They were so open with their lives, and then _someone_ would of course break the pattern and be so secretive one could almost think he hid governmental strategies in there.

Omi had made it clear enough that no one was to sneak inside and dig through Aya's things without permission, but curiosity had gotten the better of him. Yohji had been disappointed the few times he had been inside without Aya's presence. No decorations on the walls, a plain writing desk, a narrow bed… Aya's room was a manifestation of Aya's personality.

A low sound made him freeze in his tracks. It came from behind the closed door, the locked door, and for some reason gave him goose bumps. Yohji paused and blinked, staring at his bowl of food while he listened. Another sound, a low, pained moan this time. 

Interesting.

The first thing that struck Yohji was that these sounds were a good sign. Perhaps Aya had finally taken his advice and was about to have his brains screwed out. The thought made Yohji snicker softly in his hand, although he knew almost immediately that it wasn't the case. Aya wouldn't do such a thing here, at home, where they had three curious eavesdroppers. Aya wouldn't do such a thing at all, he was too frigid to let anyone put his hands on him. The man despised body contact as much as a cat despised water, he probably didn't even know how it was done.

A nightmare then. It shouldn't have surprised Yohji as much as it did. After all, Aya was human, icicle or not icicle. No human was possibly capable of doing the things they did, seeing what they saw, without somehow suffering from it. Unless Aya had a mind of type Farfarello, it was only natural that he would have nightmares too. Then again, Yohji didn't really have an overview of what went on inside Farfarello's mind, and neither was he interested in finding out. What was happening inside Aya's room was much more important for the time being.

More whimpers followed, remarkably soft sounds for one with such a sharp tongue. Yohji was torn between walking back to his own room and standing here too see what happened next. Not that he could see anything; the door, unsurprisingly, was locked when he tried it. But it was curious, almost intriguing. Aya never displayed weakness willingly. Even in fights, he had never heard the man scream from pain. In fact, he had never seen Aya admit being hurt at all. And now he was having a nightmare.

All of them suffered from nightmares, old ones being replaced by new ones as they were given new missions. They had a routine for that as well. Omi would run inside his room and curl up like a cat. Yohji had woken up several times in the middle of the night, only to spot a silhouette in oversized pajamas quietly asking for permission to stay. Sometimes he would wake up in the mornings and not even remember that he had brought someone home last night, then notice the sleeping form clutching his shirt. Ken would go to Omi. Sometimes, it would be the noisy neighbors that kept him awake. Sometimes he would say that he forgot to turn off the radiator and couldn't sleep in an overheated room. Yohji himself usually stuck to smoke and beer. He would just sneak downstairs and get a can of booze, then leave the lamp on his nightstand turned on. 

But Aya… had no one to go to. Aya held too much pride to be permit himself that, but he hadn't been given the offer either. It made Yohji wonder how much the man actually kept from them. It made Yohji wonder how often Aya would disappear into his room and lick his own wounds, hissing at them just so they wouldn't dare to follow. It made him wonder how much Aya could carry on his own shoulders, before he…

The small whimpers turned into a loud wail, blowing all his thoughts away the very second. The assassin senses kicked in, his heart skipping over a beat as he almost threw the bowl of food to the floor. Locks could only hold so much, and Aya's door was no different. The whole thing gave in as soon as he threw himself at it with all force he could summon. At first, he was met with obscurity, white bed sheets a sharp contrast against the dark walls.

"Aya!?"

Their redhead was sprawled across his bed, twisting and turning, fighting unseen foes that didn't seem to leave him. For a split second, Yohji had thought that Aya had been hurt for real, the heart wrenching cry sounding everything but normal. They had been attacked at their home before, there was no reason to be gullible because of idleness. But no, Aya was tangled in his own bed sheets and seemingly unable to wake up.

Yohji swallowed as he hurried to the redhead's side, afraid to be near the bed. He was more than familiar with nightmares, and all he could do now was to place a shaken hand on Aya's shoulder and wonder what the hell he was doing here.

There were two types of nightmares. There were those nightmares where you woke up screaming. He had these when Neu pressed a gun to his chest in the middle of a kiss. And then there were those you couldn't wake up from. Those where Asuka would stare at him with pale, dead eyes and ask him if he knew what he had become. What he had done.

Aya seemed to have the latter, judging by how he kept struggling uselessly against his own bed sheets but not stirring. It hurt to watch, Yohji realized. And so he shook Aya's shoulder in hope of a response. Hoping to pull him away from the fears he was facing.

"Aya? Come on mate, it's a dream. Open your eyes. It's a dream, you idiot."

He was answered by a hiss. Aya's arm jerked, fist clenching in soft, white fabric. Whatever demons had him, appeared to be stubborn. Yohji had no intention of giving up. He had broken into Aya's room into the middle of the night, and was now sitting crouched beside his bed while he should have been snoring in his own. Aya was to wake up, even if it meant that he had to go for more authoritative methods. Jumping to his feet, Yohji grabbed one of Aya's wrists and pinned his arm firmly down, hoping to still him while he called his name more loudly.

That turned out to be a big mistake.

Yohji had no clue how he managed to avoid the strike and survive, perhaps his assassin reflexes struck deeper in him than he had assumed at first. Not that he had the time to contemplate over such a thing. All he knew was that Aya suddenly sat up and with his free hand swung the katana across the bed, screaming loud enough to shatter glass.

"Don't!"

Yohji dived, feeling how the weapon swept over his scalp. His hand was still locked onto Aya's arm; he wasn't present enough to let go. In that position, he had no chance of surviving the next blow that would follow. But Aya halted, his arm in the air, the tip of the katana tickling Yohji's nose.

Their gazes locked. Aya was staring at him, eyes wide and full of shock. His lips were slightly parted, the breath coming in small, hitching gasps. It was, if it hadn't been so uncanny, a sight to behold. During all their years under the same roof, Yohji had never seen Aya cry. Now, his face was wet with glistening tears, streaming unconsciously down his cheeks.

The tip of the weapon still threatened his life; Aya having no plans of removing it. Yohji wondered where the hell he had taken it from in the first place. Did the little shit actually keep a fucking _sword_ by his nightstand? What was this – a military camp in some war-ravaged trench?

"Yohji…?"

He couldn't summon the wits to answer, too shell shocked to come up with anything that resembled coherency. Not when he had almost lost his life to someone he always regarded as fairly safe.  
Oh, Aya had threatened them often enough with his katana, silently or aloud, but it was the first time Yohji had actually found himself on the wrong end of that thing. The first time the blade had come close enough for him to _feel_ it.

"What are you doing here?"

The voice trembled, just as much as Aya's hand did when he finally lowered his weapon. It landed on the bed with a dull thud, slipping out of his grasp. The fear in his eyes didn't falter though, if anything, recognizing Yohji only fueled it more. 

What _was_ he doing there?

How could he explain what drove him to barge into Aya's room in the middle of the night, without raising a whole mountain of new questions? What was he supposed to say? That he had been eavesdropping outside of Aya's room because it completely caught him off guard that Aya was capable of having nightmares? That he thought Aya had been attacked when he cried out? How was he going to explain that?

He couldn't.

Yohji let go of Aya's wrist, grinning more sheepishly than he had done in his entire life. It was all or nothing now, he could throw the dice and hope for best.

"Baby… this is my room." Yohji slurred with a lame smile. And with that, he promptly dumped on the bed beside Aya, burying his face in the mattress. He could hear Aya exhale. He could feel Aya sitting rigidly in the bed. He could almost sense Aya's relief when he realized that his team mate had broken into his room by accident, completely smashed and probably not even remembering his own name.

It was a classic. He would never buy it. Yohji braced himself.

But Aya bought it nonetheless. Aya was so concerned with regaining his facade that he didn't even give it a second thought as he violently yanked the playboy off the bed and threw him out of the room. Aya had been so afraid to be seen like that, he didn't give himself a second to notice the obvious bluff. For the second time that night, Yohji leaned against the wall in the corridor - breathing as if he had been running a marathon.

It was all right.

All right. No harm done. He heard how Aya fumbled with the lock behind the door, he must have managed to break it after all…  
Almost no harm done then. A small price to pay, considering the alternatives. It wasn't a big deal, just a drunken idiot of a team mate that had broken into his room by accident. Blood was probably going to be shed for this in the morning, but it would be nothing compared to what problems Yohji could expect if Aya had known the truth.

Of course, if Aya had been even the slightest more aware of his surroundings, he would have noted that no drunk man could avoid a katana coming out of the dark at that speed. If Yohji _truly_ had been drunk, he would most likely have been a head shorter now. The thought scared him. He swallowed, wondering for a small moment if Aya was fine. There was a hiss of defeat as the redhead realized the door couldn't be locked and then quick footsteps as he probably ran back to the bed. But after that, there was only silence.

Aya was fucking not all right. With these kinds of nightmares, Aya was likely to kill himself with that damned sword of his. For all Yohji knew, he could really be plotting suicide and writing down goodbyes now. Aya was Aya, being seen screaming and trashing by an "enemy" could be beyond the redhead's ability to cope with. Hard to tell, though it wouldn't come as a surprise if he did. But damn if Yohji was going to care.

For this night, he had gotten enough of red hair and katanas. Noticing that he unconsciously had his hand on the doorknob, he quickly removed it. Going inside was no option. If he followed his gut and burst inside again, making sure the moron was still breathing, Aya would know. Aya would _purposely_ slice him up and feed the pieces to the stray cats outside. No thanks.

A door to his left opened, followed by a small streak of light on the floor and then Omi's head. Yohji turned; surprised that no one had come sooner. With all the knocking and screaming, he was surprised the neighbors hadn't called the police yet.

But perhaps it only had been that loud in his head…

Either way, he was now scowled at, so he supposed he should deal with that first.

"Yohji-kun, what _are_ you doing?"

Omi's voice was laden with sleep. Yohji could almost see the narrow eyes and annoyed expression on his face, despite the darkness surrounding them. He hiccupped deceitfully and stumbled a little.

"Looking for the bathroom, kiddo… did you take it?"

The only reply he got was an exaggerated sigh as Omi brought a hand to his forehead.

"Down the corridor, to your right. Go to sleep, Yohji."

Before he had the time to come up with a decent, half-assed answer, the kid closed the door and cut him off. Nothing could be heard from Ken's room. Yohji stood still for a few more minutes. Stood still and listened, then absently picked up his cold bowl of food. Bed, sleep, and forget this night, if he ever could. Either way, he decided to obediently follow Omi's advice.

---

End of part 2.


	3. Chapter 3

----

"Get up, man. We have a mission."

Those had been Ken's words to him about three hours ago. Three hours ago, Yohji had been peacefully sleeping with no plans of waking up before dinner time. Then Birman had found it convenient to show up, and things have gone downhill. Now they were all sitting in their basement and making vague outlines of a plan.

Planning missions was time-consuming, Yohji figured as he pulled out the last papers from the envelopes they had received. This one could get tough too, not exactly a quickie that would leave them with their afternoon off. Yohji wasn't exactly sure about what they were supposed to raid, except from that it looked like a fort. From what the documents told him, it was a laboratory complex. He'd seen a lot of these, and the missions had been comparable. Get in, kill, get grossed out by the stuff they found there, get out, repeat until Kritiker finally circled in those behind the whole thing, kill, and they were done.

This time, they wanted a bigger raid. They would be assisted by a team of professional soldiers, an armed force that Yohji didn't even know Kritiker possessed. But, if he was to speak freely, he had little clue about those who pulled their strings in general. Omi had frowned at him, as if Kritiker having armed forces at their disposal was the most natural thing in the world. Omi was behind his computer, all sweet attitude put away as his fingers danced over the keyboard. Three- dimensional maps of the building were flashing on the screen, and the kid's brows drew tighter and tighter in concentration as he zoomed in.

"It's a maze…"

Ken was leaning against the wall.

"You don't say. Two of our agents paid with their lives for these scans. "

Omi whirled around, or rather, his chair did, and he looked rather worried despite the attempt at being irritated.

"Don't tell me this! I know already, Birman gave us an hour long speech on the security of the…"

"I never thought she was going to quit." Yohji butted in, stretching on the couch. These papers told him precious little. He needed to know his role in the plan down to the very detail, not what the guards there had for breakfast. And when he did know, it was time for getting out the wires.

"Be serious, Balinese."

Aya, who until then had been sitting in a corner and silently reading the folders Birman brought for them, seemed to wake up. The voice downright seeped with ice, a cold command by any other name. Yohji made a little hissing sound at that, placing his hands under his head. Whatever you say, leader. He was treading on thin ice when it came to Aya after all. The only reason for why he was still alive and kicking after the previous night was Birman's interference with their daily lives. If not for her, Aya would without doubt nail him to the katana and roast him for lunch.

Behind him, Ken gave a whistle as he opened a grey suitcase on the floor.

"Aren't these lovely… sleek as oiled baby butts." He took up one of the guns and pretended to cock it, aiming at Omi's dart board. The boy waved his arms furiously, not wanting any bigger holes in it than what his darts produced. Besides, it would surely scare Ms Momoe half to death. The kind lady was currently upstairs, preparing a small meal for them. One that could easily prove to be their last.

"Why guns?" Yohji questioned, almost with disappointment in his voice. It wasn't like they weren't able to use other weapons than their trademark ones, but it was still intriguing. Wires were unusual, and professional use required enormous amounts of training. He refused to be reduced to some ordinary hitman.

Wait. Gods… was he actually thinking of his line of work with _pride?_

"They will be necessary." Omi's soft voice informed them. "It's a hard mission, and our ordinary weapons won't have much to say against machineguns and such, if we were to be confronted."

"But that's what the armed forces are supposed to take care of, isn't it?" Ken asked, putting the guns away. They looked almost specially designed, two of them heavier than the others, for different purposes and different ways of killing. One was obviously aimed for Omi, small and lithe as a child's toy.

"Yeah. But we might get a little trouble."

"Wouldn't surprise me." Yohji sighed and pushed himself into a sitting position. Omi stood up and looked at them all. He sent Ken a reassuring smile, the kind of smile that Omi always used when he was half-dead with anxiety and they had hell and high water coming. It only lasted for a small moment though, before the focus was on their mission again.

"So…" He cleaned his throat, wearing the most serious expression the world had ever seen. "Does everyone know what they have to do?"

Ken pulled out one of the papers that were on the floor and showed them a red, drawn line marking a path on the map.

"Get in, take control over the far-east part of the fort, then take the documents located in locker B and get out. Got it." He put his thumb up to emphasize that, a tense but optimistic grin plastered on his face.

Omi's gaze fell on Yohji, and when he didn't get much more than an affirmative nod from that corner, it finally reached Aya.

"You have the hardest part, Abyssian. The soldiers may be able to hold back the enemy units, but you will have to face all our targets on your own. Problem is, we haven't been quite able to map out their capacity. Kritiker's sources say they're competent in combat, but wield nothing… out of ordinary."

Yohji knew what their tactician meant, and he sighed. It just wasn't fair that there actually existed people who could throw things across the room without touching them, or give the most torturous mental images to catch their enemies off guard. Especially not when said people were the badguys, and were in some secret, hostile-to-humanity organization. People like Schwartz.

Well, fuck them. Yohji wasn't happier with the humanity than the white-haired lunatic they kept on a leash, but that didn't give him a reason to go on a killing spree.

Aya only replied with a grunt. He seemed to be totally gone, pacing around the room as if he was hoping to dig a waterway if he only walked long enough. Yohji assumed nasty scenes were playing inside of Aya's head. He would always do this; repeat each step of the mission to himself until he knew it by heart. That's what made him their unofficial leader, he guessed. That's why Aya would get the primary role every time, the hardest tasks.

This time, there were scientists though. He stretched out his hand and picked up the photos of those _Abyssian_ would have to assassinate. Damned Kritiker, it better not be anything "out of ordinary" this time. He had seen scientists turn into monsters right in front of his eyes, so he knew better than to trust their expanding association. He knew better than to trust anyone.

"Well guys, should we get going?"

Ken broke the silence when he pushed himself away from the wall and experimentally checked if the glove on his right hand worked properly. Omi nodded and quickly started to pick up the most vital papers and maps on the floor. He would surely go through them over and over in the car. They all went upstairs then, leaving the basement in chaos. Funny how all thoughts of cleaning were gone when they went into their "professional" modes.

Ms Momoe had their food ready on four small platters, and was sitting in a chair beside their kitchen table. Her cat wasn't there, which gave Yohji the silliest knots in his stomach. He just hoped it wasn't a bad omen. But the lady was cheery, wishing them good luck as if they were off to school or a football match. Omi had once been curious enough to try digging into her past by using his wonder-machine downstairs. She was a Kritiker agent as good as any; according to the official records, "Ms Momoe" died almost twenty years ago.

Now she was smiling at them, while Omi and Ken made their way to the table and picked up their sandwiches without settling down. Yohji didn't feel like eating, so he went out to the living room and picked up his car keys. It was a habit if nothing else; they were taking Aya's white Mercedes for these kinds of trips anyway. He always brought his cigarette pack and car keys on missions. That would be the closest he would get to die in the arms of his loved ones if something went awry.

Aya didn't eat either, but he never did before missions. The redhead went over to the sink and poured himself a glass of water, drinking it silently as he watched the youngest members gobble up their bread. Then he carefully put it down and took up his katana, his boots clacking against the wooden floor as he walked towards the entrance door. Ken and Omi followed behind, each boy armed with their weapon of choice. Yohji watched Aya as he passed him, suddenly associating them all with a bizarre team of superheroes. He gave his watch a solid yank to be sure the strap was securely fastened, before joining the group.

Ms Momoe raised a small, chubby hand when they reached the door. She nodded at them, tilting her head a little.

"Take care, hunters. I'll leave the outdoor light on. Please let Eriko in when you return, or else she will mewl and keep the neighbors awake."

Omi replied something, Yohji couldn't hear what. He turned his head and smiled with a wink, seeing the old lady slowly disappear when the door was closed. Ken turned the key, locking it. Ms Momoe would always say those things to them before a mission. Although she didn't live with them, they gradually started to consider her a member of the "family." At least her cat was around all the time. Yohji didn't mind; it made him feel like he had a place to return to. Funny name to give a cat, by the way, for "Eriko" meant child with a collar. It made Yohji grin a little every time he saw the animal. The Koneko was filled with cats – all wearing collars with Kritiker's nametags.

"All right. There is a possibility of entering on the side as well… no wait…"

Omi was sitting in the passengers' seat beside Aya as they rolled out of the driveway, and had a hard time sorting out his papers. No one commented when some of the papers slipped down and ended up under the seat, but the kid huffed anyway. Ken for his matter was just staring out of the window, resting his forehead on the glass. The expression on his face was unreadable, a mix between boredom and misery and something else Yohji couldn't place his finger on. Two children ran past on the pavement, chasing golden leaves. Seemed like the school day was over, soon the girls would probably line up in front of their store and be very disappointed.

"… I think we will need backup when we reach the main passage…"

He reached out and placed a hand on Omi's shoulder, tightening his grip a little.

"Shut it, kid. Planning is done, now we'll burst inside head first and make something out of it."

To underline his point, he snatched the papers away from the boy and was rewarded with a little squeak. Omi's lips formed into a perfect pout, still there was no helping it. Omi might have inherited his uncle's ability for concern, but he was starting to make Yohji damn nervous. Ken was affected too, the mask of indifference cracking more and more as they continued their race across the city. It was just a mission, for God's sake. He would have none of that worrying right now. Assassins didn't _do_ worry.

"I know, Yohji-kun." Omi fell silent for a moment, crossing his arms like an indignant child. He seemed to think a little, before finally turning around to look at them.

"It's just the time limit that worries me." He said finally, the voice less professional and more sincere than what was characteristic for him. "Everything has to be done so fast…"

"Yeah, but we have done it before." Ken replied with a little nod. "Like, running from ticking bombs and things like that. We just have to … get rid of obstacles that may slow us down."

"Like we always do." Yohji added, not meaning to sound quite as cynical as he ended up with. He fumbled with his pocket and took a cigarette halfway out if its pack, before remembering that smoking in Aya's car was strictly prohibited.

They stopped up on an open area, looking much like a parking lot. Aya carefully pulled up in a more secluded corner before turning off the engine. Very much unlike Yohji, who would have parked his Seven diagonally in the middle for everyone to admire.

Birman was the one to greet them, standing there in a semi-long skirt and sandals. The afternoon wind was playing with her hair, gently ruffling it, and she kept a white notebook under her arm. Behind her, they could see the armed soldiers standing on a row, each holding a machine gun leaned on his left shoulder.

It struck Yohji as a bizarre sight. Birman looked like a teacher from elementary school, or would have done, if not for the gun she kept hidden under her sweater or the troops she commanded. But then again, they all looked nothing like the assassins Yohji had seen on TV or in any comics. When he thought of agents, he imagined big, bulky men in black suits and dark shades.  
Well, he had the shades at least, so he was on the right track. But it was still bizarre to see doll-face over there talking of murder as if he was reciting his homework, or a deputy coach that had to cancel his football matches because he had to gut someone that evening. Yohji supposed this was what they called camouflage. He sighed softly.

It may have been working, but it was sure fucking with his head.

"Abyssian, Balinese, Siberian, Bombay." Birman listed them up in a smooth, emotionless voice. "I will now briefly repeat your mission. You have gotten the detailed instructs earlier on today, confirmative?"

"Yes." Omi's voice protruded as the boy took a few steps forward. "Everything is clear."

"Good." Birman took up the notepad she held and turned one sheet, looking down at it.

"Siberian. Enter the building through the main entrance. Secure the eastern area, lower floor. All enemy units and workers must be eliminated. Secure the documents in locker B and exit through one of the windows."

"Understood." Ken lifted his head, not looking at Birman. Looking at the laboratory sheltered by a few rows of trees.

"Balinese."

Yohji's head turned. It wasn't like him to space out like that when work was waiting, but the tobacco from his long-awaited smoke had that effect on him. A small cooldown before action, baby.

"Enter the building through left side entrance A. Clear the marked rooms, destroy all evidence, and proceed to the second floor. The third laboratory there is where they keep their biological experiments. We want a detailed report on your discoveries. If there are living human beings imprisoned in any of the cells, they are supposed to be freed. The dying or heavily injured ones are to be left behind; you will not have the necessary time to escort them out. None of the scientists are to survive."

"Got it already." Yohji exhaled the last smoke from his cigarette and threw it to the ground before he stepped on it. He was always the one to get the shittiest part of a mission. Always the one that would have his heart ripped out, if he could say he had one. Yohji liked to pretend he didn't. But then he would have a hard time explaining the silent pain he felt whenever a sacrifice was made. Whenever some innocents couldn't be saved, because they were too late, or lacked permission. Those possible "heavily injured" ones were items on a paper for Birman. For him, they were pleading eyes and hopeful cries. Perhaps he got these tasks because Kritiker knew he would grit his teeth and bear it, no second thoughts there.

None of them seemed to trust Ken or Omi to do the same.

"Bombay."

The little boy stood beside Ken and nodded.

"Enter the building through right side entrance C. Advance straight to the main laboratory, A1. The map you were given shows where the documents are located. Exit and proceed to laboratory A2. Gather samples of all listed items, exit through main entrance."

"I will."

Birman's attention fell on Aya, who held one hand on the shaft of his katana, black leather coat reflecting the orange sun. The golden earring swung back and forth, led by the wind.

"Abyssian." Yohji could swear she sighed a little as she called his name. A weary sigh, as if she either felt compassion for him, or was generally sick standing here and instructing them.

"You are in charge of the main part of this operation. Enter through the main entrance. Proceed to the…"

He didn't care to listen to the rest. Birman's voice became a distant hum as he stuck his hands in his pockets and stepped on a fallen leaf, trapping it under his boot. No motivation, no nothing. Even the adrenaline rush lacked. At this point, he was prone to fucking up bigtime.

Come on, Kudoh. Shape up. One of their biggest missions in a while, and he was drowsing off on the asphalt. Look at Ken, Omi… more ready than ever, as they always are before a mission. He should really get his gears running.

"Then, I take it you are prepared? You have forty-five minutes. Fifteen minutes to evacuate the building before it is eliminated. Explosives will be planted in the areas marked on the map. Men of Weiss… deny the dark beasts their tomorrows."

Birman stepped aside and saluted, crushing her image as a civilian school teacher and revealing the hint of a long military training.

And then they were running.

Some demands they had, this secret organization against evil of theirs. Yohji kept up with the soldiers in front of him, his hand twitching after pulling the wires. They were like combat dogs, released from their bonds. And the leaves were swept up in their path.

"On three…"

The door was kicked in with a brutal force, three soldiers hiding behind each side of the wall while the rest did their work. Two guards were killed immediately as the troop went in and spread. They were attacking in turns, changing positions as they defeated the resistance and advanced to the next. Soldiers were storming out of every corner, as if they were attacking a military base and not a research fort. Obviously, Kritiker hadn't been exaggerating when they decided to use their armed forces.

Yohji stuck to the background, shifting between running behind and pressing himself against the wall and holding his breath. Unlike the helmed units that were sheltering him against the crossfire, he had no better protection than the cloth material covering his body. He had been instructed to not interfere, just stay behind until the way was cleared, but things became a little complicated when bullets were flying past his ears.

More guards stormed down from the second floor, emerging from behind every corner. In no time, the corridors became a mayhem of roaring commands and agonized shouts. Yohji slid down against one of the walls and crouched, only to use the floor as a spring-board when he jumped and rolled across the gate.

It worked. So far. Pulling away his sleeve, he briefly glanced at the small GPS device attached to his lower arm. One of the first rooms was supposedly close, and so he scanned the corridors over the rim of his shades. All that caught his attention was a white door marked by a serial number. Flipping up a tiny camera from one of his pockets, Yohji quickly snapped a photo of the number and started sneaking towards the door. Kritiker's team should have been able to interfere with the security system by now, so he assumed his fingerprints would work when he placed his hand on the small square of glass.

"Access limited to authorized staff only. Vocal identification required."

Yohji bit his lower lip, brushing a few lost hair strands out of his face.

"The devil himself, if you want."

A short pause followed, the system obviously not matching him with the database at once. He was almost ready to use more persuasive methods, gripping for the small grenade he was given before the mission, but the door finally slid away.

"Access granted."

He stepped inside, quickly getting an overview of what the room stored. Nothing very impressive at first sight, large shelves filled with test tubes of various sizes. For all he knew, they could contain the most amazing breakthroughs within science. At first, his detective senses kicked in, and he walked over to look at the labels that stuck to them. But they told him nothing, a mess of figures and letters. He took out a small, metallic device and activated it, throwing it to the floor.

Glass shattered, flying across the corridor as the bomb detonated and the shelves crumbled. Yohji walked on, following the route. He noticed how some of the debris was deflected by his coat, not feeling anything apart from the prickling sensation. One down, one to go before the main area.

Was this place sterile or what? White, blinding light shone from the ceiling, heightened by the smooth, gray and white walls. Only now, there were bodies and bloodstains here and there, the troopers doing their job with vigor.

Massacre.

Yohji felt his stomach turn involuntarily at the sight of a limp female scientist, the body sprawled in the middle of the way and the doctor coat drenched in red. The test tubes she was running with were broken, brightly colored creating trails on the bleak floor.

There were more, people clad in white mixed with security guards, discarded guns and notebooks, everything scattered around in a wet mess. Some of their own were also brought down, lying with broken helmets and holes in their backs. Not every part of their armor was bulletproof it seemed.

He heard quick footsteps behind him, turning to see a defense group approaching, their guns already out and aiming at him. And that's when he knew he should be moving. Yohji wondered if he had ever been moving so fast before, running like there was no tomorrow. Well, there wouldn't be one for him if he didn't get himself out of this frantic chase. The troops had pressed forward, annihilating everything in their way, leaving Yohji to do his job. But he never expected a counter from behind.

There should be a law against chasing people with machine guns, Yohji decided as he skimmed around one corner and gained a few seconds of shelter, bullets clattering when repelled by metallic walls. Where the hell did they come from?

He scrambled to his feet and grabbed the grenade he had at his disposal, sending it backwards with a silent prayer. A few of the guards in the front were wiped out, the rest momentary stunned or knocked off their feet. A small chance at getting the advantage. Yohji made his way to the next corridor, rounding the corner and getting down against one of the walls. There was nowhere to hide, steel and blinding white leaving him completely exposed. He snatched the walkie-talkie they all carried, crouching down to regain his breath.

"Balinese to Black chief. I repeat, Balinese to Black chief. Need assistance at… ah, fuckit!"

Yohji snarled a few very discourteous words as he heard someone run towards him, a hand landing on the watch on his wrist. Damn if they were to get him here, Yohji Kudoh could bite as well. The optical fiber strings shot out, creating a completely invisible trap that stretched across the whole narrow gate. He snapped them off and kept running, not turning back to check on his pursuers. Their eagerness was cut short – literally – when they encountered his web of wires. Yohji almost broke into a hysteric laughter, giving what he had and hoping to make it around the next corner before they broke free. A bullet grazed his right arm, effectively ripping a large gash in the fabric.

Door two. Identification procedure. He tore off his glove and slammed his hand on the glass plate, shouting at the mechanic computer asking for verification of his voice. As soon as the doors agonizingly slowly slid apart, he threw another chip inside and kept moving. A quick check on the GPS showed him that he was supposed to return according to the plan Omi set out for him, but that was no option now. In a moment of brief self-reflection, he realized that he must have looked like a pretty big idiot. The cocky assassin and self-proclaimed badass was gone. In his place, a desperate man was running like a hare trying to escape a pack of wolves.

"Hunters of the night my ass." Yohji hissed, casting a glance at his bleeding arm. He _knew_ something would go wrong the very moment he heard Ken's powerful knocking on his door. No smart man would bother to wake up when his morning greeting included the name "Birman". Wait, screw that. No – sane – man would bother to wake up around that kind of company at all.

That made him very much insane then, for Yohji was now having the security guards on his neck and about half of his mission time left before the whole place was blown to pieces. And it wasn't helping that his body started to complain about the pace he forced upon it.

Damned cigarettes and their less beneficial effects. Damn his lungs and guns and laboratories and these too slow troopers that should have been watching out for him and Omi's tactics and …

Yohji froze in his tracks when soldiers appeared in front of him, on the verge of panic. It took him a split second to recognize the gray armor and restrain himself, for his hand was already around another grenade which he was ready to toss. They reacted the same way, some of them prepared to shoot him down at the initial sight.

"Balinese here. Confirming, Balinese."

The commander appeared furious, for even though Yohji couldn't see his eyes behind the visor of his helmet, the corners of his mouth were twitching. They probably wondered why he was straying from the original plan, and why he had failed to inform them. Asses could be kicked later if anything; there was no time for harangues now. He decided to deliver that message to them before any started.

"Yeah, I was a little side-tracked, fuckheads. Should have been on the opposite side of this section now and doing my job – if you had been doing yours."

He got a snarl in return, neither of them wasting time with more pleasantries than the few necessary curses. Yohji spun around as soldiers ran past him and followed behind. The adrenaline might have been keeping it at bay now, but he could swear he would have a headache the size of the moon once they were on their way home. Far too much noise for his head and nerves to cope with. Yohji could stand eardrum-blasting music at clubs, but repeatable gunshots were beyond him.

At times like these, you learn to appreciate old-fashioned swords and wires and whatever. This would be double up with painkillers tonight.

Twenty minutes.

He parted from the troop and ran up the stairs leading to the second floor, his boots making an echo for each quick step he took. They had been up here too, motionless bodies lying everywhere in their private pool of blood. The walls also got their fair share of stains, but at least the excessive amount of noise was less. Yohji paused a for a small minute, placing his hands on his own knees for support while he allowed himself a few much needed deep breathes. Then he got the card Omi handed him and let it slide through the identification system. There was a code… which was, if he recalled correctly…

A sigh escaped his lips when he flipped up the PDA and pressed a button, the screen changing. Handy, these things, carrying the most vital information that was also most frequently forgotten. Things he was supposed to remember, since there was no guarantee that he would be given time to check.

After confirming his voice yet again, he waited for the doors to open and enter. The systems here took their sweet time, especially for an assassin who had to count every second. But the doors slid to the left, first the outer and then the inner, and…

A tall figure stood in the middle of the door opening, and was aiming a gun straight at his heart.

Yohji blinked. Once. He couldn't see the face of the man, didn't need to see it to know the maniac grin plastered on his face for he had seen it countless of times before.

With a swiftness that could have put any western cowboy to shame, Yohji drew his gun and pulled the trigger. It was nothing but pure survival instinct and reflexes, his brain registering that he was going to die before his consciousness did it. The bullet caught his opponent right between the eyes, his body standing still for the first few seconds before it slowly fell backwards. Wide, shocked eyes stared at Yohji, disbelief clearly shown in the contorted face. The gleeful grin didn't falter, not even when the body landed on the floor with a sickening thud.

He stood still then, endless seconds ticking past him and he didn't even recognize them. Not until the gun slipped from his hand and fell in front of his feet, snapping him out of it.

Yohji stormed inside, head turning from left to right to check for more possible threats. There were none, he was alone in the enormous laboratory now, just him and the time that was running away from him.

Fifteen minutes.

He grabbed the camera, taking pictures of each part of the area. Then he went over to the counters, systematically writing down the numbers he could find on small metallic plates. They had been in the middle of work, it seemed, tubes and bottles scattered all over. Certain glass cylinders contained discolored liquid, others contained yellow or white powder. He had been forbidden touch anything, so the only thing he could do was to register the objects he came over.

There was a refrigerator in the back of the room. It was protected, obviously unable to open unless he had an electronic card. Yohji took the one Kritiker had constructed and tried. Once, twice… access denied.

"Shit…"

He whirled around, eyeing the corpse blocking the entrance. It was one of the scientists, one that hadn't been able to make an attempt at escaping – or perhaps was clever enough to realize that it would have been futile. Crossing the room in less than ten steps, he crouched beside the fallen man and let his hands glide over the still warm body until he found what he was looking for. The card was completely blank except from the photo on one of the sides, even the name was replaced by a serial number. Suited Yohji well, it became less personal then.

The display changed to green on the refrigerator this time, and he tore the door open to look inside. Containers, transparent containers filled with a crimson liquid that couldn't be anything but blood were standing in rows, sorted after volume and date. Yohji doubted it was voluntarily donated. All of them had labels on, labels that he didn't have time to copy, but simply snapped another photo of. On the very top shelf there were smaller bottles, the fluid completely black. Without knowing why, he felt his skin crawl at the sight of them.

Ten minutes.

He stood up and ran to the metal door on his left, the door not having any advanced security system but a modern lock. That could be fixed rather fast, he already held the lockpick between his index and middle finger. The first one proved too big, making him pick a new one from his set with more consideration. In his past, Yohji always compared picking locks with taking care of women. You simply had to know when to follow the current and when to force the issue.

The lock clicked, letting him open the door when he gently pushed it. He was met with darkness, and an overwhelming, harsh stench of blood mixed with the sterile, dry smell of chemicals. And silence. No human beings, no screaming prisoners. Empty cages were standing against each of the walls, smeared with blood, but that was all there was to it.

Gone?

Yohji scowled, his hands clenching into fists as he stepped inside despite the revulsion he felt. The prisoners must have been moved, yet it didn't seem like the organization had been expecting any attack. Then it meant that there could be other bases similar to this one, or that they had gone further in their research than estimated, or that they simply had executed the test subjects and Kritiker had been too late. Whatever it was, it wasn't his responsibility, all _he_ needed to do was to snap the last photos as the ultimate evidence for his report, and get the hell out.

Five minutes.

He was running again, taking as long steps as he could manage and jumping down each section of the stairs. Four minutes and he passed the first demolished storage room, shards of glass creating fine trails across the floor. Three minutes and he jumped over the body of the female scientist, picking up her notebook for possible material he could include in his report. Two minutes…

He paused, grabbing the PDA and turning on the GPS map again, knowing that getting lost now would mean certain death. Right, then left, forwards, left again.

Making his way around the first corner, he wasted no time looking for survivors or allies. The remains of his net of invisible wires were still hanging there, slashing a small gash on his cheek when he was stupid enough to run through without ducking.

One minute, thirty seconds…

He barely had breath left, not allowing himself to slow down no matter what came in his way. Full power now, and he swore he would start exercising every day and never touch a cigarette ever again.

Ten seconds.

The windows Birman had spoken of were in the other end of the corridor, three identical, large squares of glass that would be his only escape. No time for hesitation now, he just covered his head with his forearms and jumped, breaking out as the air behind him drowned in fire and the shock waves of an explosion. Glass and fragments of metal and concrete flew to all sides, Yohji landing with an impact on the asphalt ground and falling on all fours. He rolled around, letting himself feel the pain in his elbows and knees and just breathe before he finally stood up.

Mission complete.

Yohji took a few hesitating steps forward and brushed off dirt from his already ruined coat, his lips curling into the utmost satisfied grin he could produce. He still had his shades, though how they managed to stay on him was completely beyond him.

Boy, Sylvester Stallone and Chuck Norris and those fuckers could be damned to hell and beyond. Who needed Ken's stupid action movies at times like these? Yohji took another gasping breath, almost laughing. He felt as if he could have stopped a train now if it hit him.

It was the same every time after such a mission, the aftermath hitting them in various stages. First came the nearly hysterical happiness over being alive, over making it against all odds. Later, he would have to deal with the complete exhaustion and the memories. Later he would be amazed over the fact that he was still walking. But that was later. All he wanted now was to revel in the joyful sensation of being immortal.

The laboratory complex was engulfed in fire behind him, giving warmth and light to the cold autumn night. Cars were already lined up, ready to take away the troops, and them as well if necessary. He assumed Birman was gone by now, but Omi would still nag about delivering their findings, unless the kid was already out cold in Aya's car.

Smiling at the thought, Yohji stuck his hands in his pockets and walked towards the transport cars, wondering why so many of the troopers were running around still. He saw his two team mates from a good distance, expecting that they were watching the flames with silent fascination.

But they weren't watching the building at all.

Omi was screaming on the top of his lungs, a large group of soldiers gathered around them while Ken was holding onto the younger boy in a poor attempt at restraining him.

Yohji froze in place, too astonished to take another step at first. Then he lunged forward, shoving the mass of armed combatants violently out of his way until he reached the Weiss members. Ken was shouting as well, his claws out while he desperately held Omi's shoulder with the second hand.

"The hell? Bombay!?"

That shut Omi up, the boy turning to look in the direction of the familiar voice. His face was wet with tears, breath coming in small, hitching sobs. Ken paused in the middle of another curse, looking at Yohji with his mouth hanging open.

"Abyssian." Omi simply gasped, oblivious of Yohji's confused and terrified expression.

"Abyssian… didn't make it."

Yohji's face turned blank. He saw Omi's mouth opening and closing, stuttering explanations pouring out, and couldn't hear a single word. Those were also moments belonging in an action film, endless seconds sliding past as the world faded away and narrowed down to absolute darkness. But that was the last thing Yohji contemplated over as he whirled around to face the building and roar with all he could muster.

"Aya!"

Omi was already over him, not letting him make it past the first three steps. The smaller boy locked his arms around his waist, using all strength his body could produce to stop him, and Yohji didn't have the consistency to resist. They crashed against the asphalt, screams and shouts mingling with the explosions and the roaring fire.

"They'll kill you! They'll kill you, Aya is gone, Yohji, stop, they shot him, stop, you can't --"

He snarled, breaking free by slamming his elbow into Omi's chest, sending the boy sprawling backwards. His arms pushed his body up on their own accord, letting him scramble up and take a leap towards the inferno of flames. Ken was there an instant, firmly grabbing Omi to prevent him from following, before he violently pulled him back to his legs.

Main entrance. Yohji sheltered his body by crossing his arms in front of himself as he burst through the wall of flames. The heat hit him in waves; almost knocking him off his feet again and making him stumble to the nearest wall for support. He initially clamped a hand in front of his mouth, lungs filling with blazing air and smoke.

Aya. He had to find Aya. He had to find Aya or burn to crisp in the process, for Aya wasn't dead. He began to run again, breathing with his mouth and ignoring the searing pain the air left inside him.

_Where…_

He remembered nothing of what was said after Omi's first words, nothing of what Birman had told him about Aya's mission, his mind repeating the last coherent thing he heard like a mantra.

Aya didn't make it. Aya didn't make it, Aya didn't…

"You son of a fucking _bitch!_ Where are you!?"

There was no answer, nothing but fire and heat and crumbling building, walls and ceiling crashing down. He was beginning to panic now, he noticed that by the icy fear that spread through him from the gut. For each moment, navigating through the maze of flames and smoke became harder.

His foot got tangled in something soft, sending him to the floor face first. Whatever air he still had was knocked out of him, eyes growing wide. A fallen guard had brought him down, the corpse partially on fire. Yohji kicked wildly, hands clawing at the heated floor until he was standing again. He took up the goddamned GPS, immediately eyeing the spot that was Abyssian. It was completely still, not making the smallest movement across the screen, and he couldn't figure what floor he had to search. All he could do was to run into that direction.

By the time he reached Aya's section of the laboratory complex, his eyes were filled with tears from the stinging smoke. Something exploded to his left, throwing him into the corridor wall on the opposite side. The scorching metal made painful contact with the unprotected parts of his skin, his wrists and neck, and he jerked away reflexively. Second floor. He managed to lift his head to look at the stairs, doubting they could support him. But that was all he had to go on.

The wires shot out again and hooked themselves around a protruding metal rod above the stairs, the wall partially gone. Then he went in, holding onto the threads like a lifeline and pulling himself onwards every time the ground gave away under his feet. It hurt, every time he almost lost his balance and had to grab for the wires with his free hand, creating long bloody welts despite the protection of his tattered gloves.

The stairs led to an enormous hall, which at used to be a conference room before it was engulfed in flames. He still could see the remnants of the table somewhere along the wall, broken chairs and large chunks of concrete from the ceiling, and…

Aya.

He barely saw him at first, the small, black clad form lying motionlessly on the floor. At that moment, Yohji just screamed. Screamed his name and gave a damn in his abused lungs and sore throat and the burning air, until suffocating smoke cut him off and made him wheeze and cough. He was on his knees beside his fallen team mate in no time, hands shaking from exhaustion and pure, raw fear.

Aya lay in a fetal position, trying to shelter himself from the merciless heat for what it was worth. His left hand was trapped under a piece of concrete half his size, crimson seeping from under it. The other hand was curled around his lower stomach, blood welling up despite his feeble attempt at stopping it.

But he was breathing.

Yohji thought he perhaps made a noise of relief upon the discovery, though he wasn't sure. He pulled Aya's upper body into his lap, watching his head fall backwards, his brows tightly knitted in a frown of pain. With a sting of renewed dread, Yohji realized that Aya's shallow breathing would most likely not last very much longer. Each weak gasp came with more effort than the previous, and his body tensed up at the first contact.

"Aya." Yohji hissed through clenched teeth, the only comfort he could manage in his dazed state. He got no reply, but Aya went limp again, though there was no way to tell whether it was because he recognized the voice or was simply too weak to put up a fight.

Another explosion followed, sending metal and concrete flying. The world was falling apart around them, flames rising. It made Yohji gather his senses enough to realize that they needed to escape – if that was still a possibility – and he put Aya down and experimentally tried to remove the chunk of stone that had him pinned to the floor. With both hands, he could barely rock it.

Yohji jumped to his feet in frustration, coughing in his hand while he looked frantically around. Aya's katana lay beside the fallen redhead, and he picked it up with the intention of making the release a short process. The arm seemed to be smashed anyway, he wouldn't be able to use it again.

But a thought of Kritiker made him halt. Aya had already failed the mission, and he had been shot. Yohji didn't need to guess who had done it, not by the way Omi had been screaming at the troop commander. They left him behind as a deserter, not taking a second look to see if they had fulfilled the job. Yohji couldn't imagine how Aya had managed to survive it. But if he lost his arm as well, he would be nearly useless to Kritiker…

Cursing, Yohji threw away the useless sword and pulled out his wires. There was a broken pillar a few feet away from them, leaned against the wall. If he could somehow use the weight of it to lift the concrete away from Aya, there was a slight chance he could pull his arm out. Yohji threw the strings around the pillar twice, fastening them awkwardly around the large piece that held Aya. Then he crossed the room, using his bodyweight to tip the pillar over before he made his way back. It landed on the floor with a heavy impact, and Yohji silently prayed his wires would hold. They did, for a small second, before they snapped under the strain. But that one second was enough to lift the piece of concrete with a jerk, and it was all Yohji needed to free Aya's arm.

The floor gave under him then, barely giving him a chance to grab the redhead by his leather coat and pull him to safety. He thought he heard Aya scream in the process, but it was hard to tell when everything came crashing down and became encased in flames.

Safety was relative word, by the way, for they were by no means safe even though he managed to get them into a gap between the wall and another large block. It provided shelter from falling debris and the worst heat. There, he slid down, holding onto Aya. He managed to lean him onto his own body, letting Aya's head fall onto his shoulder. The younger assassin made no objections, legs curled loosely under him. His eyes were half-lidded, mouth open in a fashion that Yohji had seen on drowning victims before.

Suffocating.

"Yohji… "

His heart skipped a beat right then, relief surging through him for every small sign of life Aya gave, even though he knew it could impossibly last. Aya had been breathing smoke far too long, and the blood smeared all over his body didn't help the matters.

"That's me. Now shut up, and focus on breathing."

The harsh words lost their effect because of his trembling voice and almost pathetically relieved half-smile. He doubted they reached Aya, but Yohji needed to talk to keep himself going. He muttered a few curses, tilting Aya's head and gently pressing his face in between his neck and shoulder, hoping to save him from the worst smoke.

Here they were sitting, pretty much trapped. Yohji knew in his very core that getting downstairs would be impossible now. That's why he had to make up something damn clever, and he had to do it fast. But the options were far more limited than he liked. Was this really it? The end of his altruistic escapade to save his fallen leader would be to die here, squeezed in a corner while he let Aya bleed all over him?

It sucked.

It wasn't the death Yohji had been imagining for himself. He was a Weiss agent, and thus deserved a more glorified ending than burning to crisp. He was supposed to die in the arms of a beautiful woman, who would cry and tell him to hold on. And he would grin cynically up at her and use his last breath on a cocky phrase. He would be remembered as one of the best Weiss Kreuz hunters in history, the one who gave his life for their greatest triumph. That's how Yohji Kudoh would die.

But as things were now, he was stuck with a man he completely loathed – and the said man was fighting a losing battle for his own survival. It didn't help much that Yohji was terrified either, mentally begging Aya to hold on over and over again. Even in death, Aya had to fuck up things for him, crushing the hopes of his heroic death and make him tremble like a nerve wreck.

He gritted his teeth. No matter the effort, his attempts at working up a rage against Aya didn't work. The panic was too overwhelming; he couldn't cheat his way out of it. With a sneer, Yohji slammed his fist into the block that shielded them. Again, Aya was being a prick without opening his mouth. Again, Aya had been able to disprove the indifference Yohji had been working so hard to develop against him.

He hated this redhead, and he sure as hell wasn't going to die with him.

Yohji turned his head to face Aya, brushing away hair strands from his sweat-soaked brow.

"Fuck you, Aya." He hissed silently, hooking his arm under Aya's knees and around his upper body.

"This is – not – the way it's going to end."

And with that, he stood up, supporting himself on the block despite his protesting knees. It was worth a try, if it meant that he could avoid his fate. He charged, jumping in between the holes and burning fragments on the floor, running for the only other exit he could spot. It was a wooden double door that gave after when he kicked it, which was luck in its true shape, for the security system had surely broken down by now. They emerged into a narrower corridor, thick smoke making each gulp of air pure agony. Yohji didn't let himself be stopped by that, blindly heading for the first window he could spot.

The glass was already gone, nothing restraining him when he jumped, holding Aya in a crushing grip. He landed on his feet, then fell painfully on his side rather than on the limp body in his arms. The fall hadn't been that high, even though they jumped from the second floor. His elbow was radiating pain, making the task of lifting Aya almost impossible. He scrambled to his feet, took a few steps forward, stumbled and fell on his knees again.

Opened his eyes to the familiar click of a cocked gun against his temple.

They were gathered around him, each of them hidden behind uniform and helmet. Omi and Ken were also there, several guns pointing in their direction. That was probably the only thing that held them from rushing over to Yohji and the motionless Aya. Omi tried though, making a small, jerking motion before Ken once again grabbed his shoulders, stopping him from becoming filled with bullets.

Yohji lifted his head slowly, breath getting erratic. Not now. Not when he had gotten so far. This wouldn't have happened if the original Persia was still alive. Aya, he, Omi, Ken had been risking their lives for Kritiker, carrying out scarring and life-threatening missions after missions. He didn't _need_ to sit here and take this shit from some fuckers with guns.

"Manx." He sneered, looking wildly around, fixing his gaze on the commander. "I demand to see Manx!"

They made no signs of having heard him, not removing the weapons. Yohji scowled, ready to go after the commander's throat if not for the light weight in his lap.

"You heard me!? Take me to Manx!"

One of them reached for Aya, only to have his arm brutally slapped away. Another gun was shoved in his face, demanding attention.

"You can't execute him." Omi piped up suddenly. The boy was shaking, orange flames lightening up the pale face. "He… he is ranked as one of the chief executives in Kritiker… there must be a trial… "

Pitiful lie, but it seemed to stagger them, the guns lowering agonizingly slowly. He barely had time to throw Aya over to a waiting Ken, before someone pulled him up on his feet. The handcuffs came shortly after, firmly locking his arms behind his back. He was roughly pushed in the direction of the waiting cars, turning his head to get a final glimpse of his team mates who already were rushing for an ambulance.

"Make sure he _survives!"_

_---_

_**Thank you for all reviews! I'm surprised so many found the characters OoC though, normally I do my best to keep everyone in my fiction in character. I tried it this time too,but I have to admit I never watched all of Gluhen or read the Side B manga. So I'm sorry, but this is how I interpret the Weiss guys, I can't agree that they're OoC. :) **_

_**- Leraje.**_


	4. Chapter 4

**Ugh, sorry for short chapter. This is actually part one of the final chapter, and there is a long story behind why I had to split it.**

---

Manx' office was dark, no artificial lights turned on. She rarely bothered with turning them on, unless there was paperwork to be done. In Kritiker, paperwork could be done at the most strange hour, which was why she was now standing in Shuichi Takatori's old headquarter and gazing out of the window.

When the lights were off, she could see the city down there. The neon advertisements, the shadows of each construction, the traffic-lights…

She folded her hands over her stomach as there was a loud knocking on her door, not turning. The door was opened, letting in light and noise, a man being pushed inside with guns prodding his back.

Yohji had to concentrate in order to not fall every time he received a shove, sneering inarticulate things to his captors. He eyed the back of Persia's former secretary, shouting her name even though everyone could hear him perfectly. She just stood there, long legs and curves emphasized by the tight mini-skirt and long heels. Her cell phone way lying on the otherwise empty desk.

"Release him and leave."

Again, they hesitated to follow the order, expecting Yohji to berserk as soon as he got his hands free. That wasn't too far from the truth, but he held back this time, knowing he had very few cards left to gamble with.

The door was closed behind them again, shutting him and the flamboyant secretary from the world. He stood still, hands tightened into fists, eyes promising death despite his miserable state.

"Treachery is punished with death."

She spoke slowly, her heels making a hollow, clicking noise when she took a few steps forward, closer to the window.

"Manx…"

"Abyssian strayed from the mission and put the whole operation in danger. The instructions are clear, the troops just carried out their orders."

"I … "

"Not a word, Balinese. Bombay informed me of the situation already. He claimed he was the one at fault, for Abyssian attempted to free him. And you, against orders, without permission, went back for him. Do you expect to get away with this?"

There was a loud crack when Yohji's fist connected with the wall.

"You can't execute him for that! Aya is the best assassin in Weiss. This is _betrayal_, Manx. They cannot kill him for saving the life of a team mate! Omi has your goddamn samples and reports now thanks to Aya, and they fucking shot him." He paused, drawing his breath, looking for something to support himself on and finding nothing.

"Kritiker didn't give you permission to go against missions for empathetic motives."

He spread his arms out on either side of himself in a distressed gesture.

"Then how about permission to survive!?"

Silence.

"This would never have happened if Persia was alive, and you know it!"

She turned around, dark red curls sweeping across her shoulders. 

"Persia is gone, Kudoh." There was consideration in her voice, if only a faint trace of it. "And you speak as if I am in charge of the whole Kritiker. What do you want from me?"

Yohji tightened his lips, finding himself in a very undiplomatic mood. Negotiation could go to hell, he didn't have the strength, nor the presence of mind to attempt it. And yet, he had to try, for if he didn't, he would lose something he hadn't even realized was worth fighting for.

"Aya's life. No compromises." 

Her mask of cold indifference cracked then. Instead, an expression of weary defeat appeared on Manx' face. She looked drained, as if she had been carrying an inhuman weight for years and years. Heavily made-up eyelashes fluttered when she closed her eyes, placing her hand gently on Persia's office desk.

"There… there will be a price to pay, Yohji. You realize that, don't you?"

Yohji lowered his voice, tension slipping away from him even though he tried to hold on, tried to not let his defenses down and let exhaustion claim him. Instead, he grinned humorlessly.

"See if I care."

She appeared to expect that answer, bringing up a hand to her forehead. Yohji stood there, swaying a little, coat torn and covered in burn-holes. There wouldn't be any compromises, but someone had to take the blame. Considering the fact that Aya was probably dying and Kritiker's impatience, Yohji was more than ready to play scapegoat. For a very odd reason, it didn't seem to surprise her.

Perhaps Manx had known something about them that Yohji had completely missed out, even though he was the one that had been living under same roof as his team mates.

"And one more thing." He added, ready to dismiss himself. "Once his condition is stable, we're taking him home. You hear me?"

Manx said nothing at first, watching Yohji as he turned around to leave.

"You don't trust Kritiker's medical team?"

The door slammed shut, leaving her to her wanted darkness. She crossed her arms, sighing softly before she walked back to the large window.

"Good choice."

---

One, two, three … twenty seven.

Yohji had become painfully familiar with how many steps there were on the stairs in the Koneko during the past few days. Aya was home, safe, secure, alive, but that didn't mean they were allowed to enter his room, the doctors and nurses still hovering over him like vultures over a dying prey.

He had barely seen Aya since that night, having to satisfy himself with what Omi and Ken could report. Apparently, he had gone through a long surgery and had been requiring much blood transfusion. Shot twice, both times in his stomach. Broken arm, luckily not completely smashed as Yohji had first assumed. Smoke poisoning… there was no end to it.

Omi said that if Aya hadn't made an attempt at escape, they would probably have killed him right there. So he _had_ been trying, for what it was worth.

Aya had been shot. By Kritiker's own team. For rescuing Omi. It still sounded unbelievable in his head, no matter how much he repeated it. They all knew that disobeying orders was rewarded with death. It was just so unbelievable that it could actually happen; forcing them all to brutally remember how very much Kritiker owned their lives.

Since that night, he had been having plenty of time to hear the story in detail. Omi had been trapped, the doors shutting automatically when the security system kicked in because the boy didn't make his escape in time. Omi had contacted Aya over the transmitter to tell them his part of the mission was a failure, ready to die, and Aya turned around and cancelled his own chance at survival. Aya ran back, finding the main control center and freeing Omi even when he knew it was against orders.

Who would have thought that?

Yohji sat down on the stairs, leaning forward and burying his head in his arms. They stung badly, the hundreds of burn marks itching despite the bandages and the painkillers he had been chewing like candy. 

Who would have thought that _Aya_, the human icicle who seemed to despise friendship and company and anything that resembled warmth, would willingly throw away his life for one of them once he was given the chance?

For it became obvious to him now – Aya hadn't been planning to survive when he made his choice.

It was a shocking revelation for Yohji. He wasn't quite sure how to deal with it, and perhaps he would have taken time to figure it out if he didn't have other questions that shocked him by far more.

Like trying to figure out what had been driving him to burst into a building engulfed in flames once he heard that Aya hadn't made it.

Bitterness?

For Aya, he did feel bitterness, the kind that left a bad taste in your mouth every time you thought about it. Aya was a prick, uptight, a major pain in the ass and a source for annoyance, but he was still human. And that was the realization that came crashing down on Yohji when Omi told him Aya had failed.

Aya was human. Aya could bitch twenty four hours a day and drink his tea and have nightmares, but Aya could also die. Aya could die and leave Weiss with an empty space, which obviously was something Yohji had been dreading without even being aware of it. He was afraid of losing Omi, and Ken too. But Aya wasn't…

His forehead connected with the top step of the stairway. How could it be possible that Aya was such an isolated bastard, and still so fucking significant for them all? It wasn't right, wasn't fair, was against the rules…

He needed to see Aya. _Now. _

A small part of his brain started to wonder just how many painkillers he had been eating before getting these thoughts, for he was obviously high. Either way, there was certain things he wasn't quite ready to forgive. No matter what importance Aya held for them, Kritiker had no – right – to do this to him. Deserter… since when was saving a team mate deserting? It wasn't like he had turned on them, wasn't like he was a double agent, and they marked him as a traitor. Yes, he felt bitter.

There was a sound of something breaking downstairs. Yohji stood up, by lifting his upper body first and relying on his shaky arms to support him. His hand shot up to comb a few stiff fingers through his hair, as he walked slowly downstairs. Greasy, probably entangled in a shitty mess. A sigh escaped his lips as he suddenly recalled his original purpose for staying on the stairs. Right, shower. First go and check on what the hell was going on down there, and then shower. Sounded like a plan.

He followed the direction of the sound, peeking tiredly around the corner to see Ken crouching over a broken flowerpot and absently picking up the terracotta shards. There was brown soil on the floor as well, staining their carpet. Ken looked up, opening his mouth but waiting a little before he spoke.

"Oh, Yohji…"

The voice was soft, as if it cost him to speak. When Yohji said nothing in return, he pointed down at the mess with a weak, sheepish grin.

"Was carrying it to the shop… it broke, heh."

Yohji blinked, then nodded absently, holding onto the doorframe with one hand. Flowerpot… broken… it made sense. He blinked again and shook his head.

"Omi can probably vacuum the …"

Ken interrupted him with pointing at the couch in their living room, where a small hand could be seen even from Yohji's angle. The rest was hidden under a blanket and lying there soundlessly.

"He's out. Said he was just waiting for the pack of frozen vegetables to melt so he could get us something to eat. I covered him up, he's probably not going to wake up until late evening."

Yohji nodded for the second time, scratching his itching scalp. Showering was one thing, he couldn't remember whether he had been eating or not for the past days. Now that it was being mentioned - what _had_ he been doing? Got patched up, slept and woken up every second hour, paced around the house.

"Well… just, clean it up then. I'm off for a shower. There should be frozen pizza somewhere in the freezer, if you care to dig long enough. Mind heating one up for me as well?"

Ken started picking up terracotta pieces again, trying to not spread the moist soil further around. Yohji turned, slowly making his way back up. Every step felt like walking in quicksand, he wondered whose idea it was to get them a house with a second floor. After grabbing the first seemingly clean clothes he could get his hands on, which was a t-shirt with some ridiculous slogan on and jeans, he was finally able to lock himself inside their bathroom.

The floor felt cold under his feet when he stepped inside the shower, peeling off his bandages and wincing. It didn't look pretty, those red stripes and small bubbles with puss in. Would probably make his shower hell, but Yohji was beyond caring for such trivial matters now. He turned on the water, struggling to find the right temperature. Too hot and it would scorch his already tender skin. Too cold and he would keep shivering mindlessly like he did now.

But it felt good, gods, it felt good. He lifted his head, letting the stream hit his face. A walking ashtray, that's what he had been about to become, and this despite not touching a single cigarette since their mission. The Kritiker doctors had forbidden him to smoke until further notice. They also managed to inform him of that he was lucky to be alive, if one took into account the stuff and the chemicals he had been smoking inside of that laboratory. 

According to Omi, Aya almost got his lungs ruined that night. It was strange, for he hadn't been inside that place for very much longer than Yohji, but perhaps it was a matter of endurance. Or perhaps he really managed to inhale something hazardous.

Yohji reached for the soap, the liquid one that smelled of some fashionable manly perfumes and that Ken always stole. Omi also used that kind of soap, but he always ended up buying something that either smelled of herbs or peaches. Omi's toothbrush was bright yellow with a small flower on, which was why a stranger, or Yohji's old loves, could easily be fooled to believe there was a girl in the house. And then there was also this plain, hard soap that – surprise – belonged to Aya.

He raised his hand to massage his scalp, try to rinse some of the shampoo away, and found that his chest and forearm muscles protested. Seriously, anything for a massage now. Kritiker could at least include that kind of therapy for their assassins and agents, a small compensation for sleepless nights and a ruined life. Or at least a compensation for making them work in a damned flower shop, making about every school girl in the local area get the wrong ideas.

Why couldn't they have been mechanics instead or something? He gave it a thought, imagining Omi run around with a spanner, and then Aya whining over getting his hands smeared with oil.

Yohji rubbed his eyes helplessly, by no means hindering the water from getting into them. He must have been further gone than assumed, for he found that mental picture to be hysterically funny. It lasted for a small moment, then he felt like banging his head repeatedly on the misty glass walls of the shower cabinet.

Besides, Kritiker meant that working with flowers was therapeutic enough. They could be right for all he knew, at least he got to meet a charming woman now and then and impress her with his knowledge of the flora. 

The temperature outside of the shower cabinet made Yohji reach for his towel immediately. Water spilled all over, and he noted to himself that he would have to dry up the floor later, or else Omi would throw a fit. That was, if the kid would notice in his current, dazed state. Omi had been out of it for the past few days, Yohji assumed he would set up a tent and camp right in front of Aya's doorstep soon.

That particular idea didn't sound too bad, only he would prefer to camp in his own bed and not move out of it until the next century. Screw the pizza, Kudoh was going to sleep. Ken would only benefit from eating more anyway.

He fumbled for the toothbrush, feeling relief when the foul taste in his mouth was replaced by numbing menthol. Breath probably smelled like hell, a mix of trashcan and burnt rubber. It was strange that he hadn't been coughing up ashes yet. Vapor clouded the mirror, doing him the good favor of not reflecting his face. His injuries, however little, started to sting again, and he realized he would have to put on new bandages or risk infections.

It wasn't much, mostly burn marks, a few cuts from glass shards, and a load of bruises. Medical salve, then a clean band aid should do. He'd been lucky to avoid sprains or broken bones after all that jumping.

Yohji lifted his clean, discarded clothes and pulled on the boxers, jeans following. Let's see, now what was written on that stupid shirt?

You know it's going to be a bad day when you jump out of bed and miss the floor.

Well, no shit Sherlock. Yohji blinked lamely, tugging it on and unlocking the door to let the moist air out. He really ought to check his closet and sort out a few things, for he couldn't even remember that he had gotten it. A gift then, it looked like a typical Ken gift, a little too pessimistic to match Omi's kind of humor. He left the bathroom, hair dripping water onto the towel around his shoulders, filling the hallway with the smell of aftershave.

And a nurse was staring at him.

Yohji stared back bluntly, not moving. She eyed him up and down with an unpleasant frown, as if wondering how he dared to appear in front of her like this. He waited, holding back with the usual pleasantries. She was from Kritiker, she wasn't pretty and he was tired, so if a bitchy comment left her mouth, he would most likely strangle her. There was a notepad in her hand, matching the white, clinical uniform.

"Mr Kudoh." She said suddenly, earning a gloomy scowl. "You may see the patient now if you wish."

Yohji crossed the hallway within a second, shoving the nurse out of his way and barging into Aya's room. He abruptly came to a halt on the doorstep, giving his best to see what was inside even though his eyes couldn't adjust to the dim lighting properly. Aya was lying there, occupying his own bed and resting with his hands above the blanket in a very patient-like manner. Two doctors stood in the farthest corner of the room, conversing very quietly. He rushed inside like a drunk, kneeling beside the bed because there was no chair to offer other possibilities, making the nurse squeak with distress.

"Mr Kudoh, what are you _doing_!?"

Yohji wanted to ask himself the same, stopping himself from reaching blindly for any part of Aya's body just to make sure the redhead was still alive. He didn't even realize he had been holding his breath, exhaling shockingly.

"I must ask you to act with more consideration, running inside the patient's room like this is completely unacceptable, and…"

Yeah, yeah. Later, damn it. He extended his hand against all protests and let it curl around Aya's smaller one, finding it pleasantly warm and wanting to thank whatever gods that were watching over him. But doing so would simply be uncharacteristic for him, so he didn't. Instead, he dropped Aya's hand as if his skin had been scolded at the contact, realizing that he probably looked pretty damn pathetic right now.

Yep, the doctors were staring, most likely surprised by his reaction. He turned back and grinned, taunting them to _dare_ voicing their stupid questions.

"Yohji? … Aya, is he… ?"

Omi's head appeared in the door opening, shortly followed by Ken. They looked at him, then at each other, before hurrying inside. Yohji was almost afraid Omi would jump on the bed at first, the younger boy's hugging instinct kicking in. Omi wasn't always reasonable when emotions got in his way, even though he was the most considerate one of them all. Ken was different. He seemed to be afraid of be near Aya, and yet couldn't take his eyes away from him. Picking the middle, he just ended up standing in the middle of the room without knowing what to do.

The doctors started their lecture on care and medicine doses for Aya, of slow recovery and how often they would return to check on him. To Yohji, it sounded like excessively much, for he wished all Kritiker scum as far away from the Koneko as possible right now. But neither of them were doctors, and he wasn't about to put Aya's life at stake.

Omi turned on the small lamp on the nightstand, careful to not stumble in the oxygen mask and the other machines placed on each side of the bed. Yohji was surprised to see the younger boy looking like he was on the verge of tears. He stood up slowly, gritting his teeth at his hurting back and turned away. Ken tentatively approached Omi, placing a hand on his shoulder, and none of them could say a word.

The seconds ticked past, until one of the doctors cleaned his throat in a quiet, professional manner.

"I suggest that you all leave now. The patient needs rest, Ms Harada will look after him this night."

He seemed truly unpleased with the situation, probably finding it hard to accept that they had been ordered to send Aya home while he should have been in the hospital under normal circumstances. The nurse didn't seem too happy either, even though they had prepared Ken's room for her while Ken would sleep on the floor in Yohji's room. Manx kept her promises; there was no doubt about that.

Omi dropped the small piece of blanket he had been fumbling with, looking like a small child who had been told they had to home after a too short visit at the amusement park. He looked at Ken, seeking comfort and finding none when the nurse shoved them out of the door.

"You too, Mr Kudoh…"

"Like hell!" He snapped, turning around, yet keeping his voice low enough in courtesy of Aya. Yohji doubted anything could get him out of this room now, not after he'd been let inside. Glare all you want, bitch. 'Mr Kudoh' had temporary shut off his brain and would act on instinct alone until he was _certain_ the damned redhead in the stuffed bed would pull through. Ken an Omi still peered inside as they were almost led away by one of the doctors, Omi's gaze a mix of anxiety and relief and gratitude. 

"Very well." The last doctor sighed, rolling his eyes. "Then, I assume you will watch for the patient through the night." He made it sound like 'You better, or else.'

"In case of an emergency, call this number immediately… "

Yohji snatched the small card from the doctor's hand and nodded. Get out, just get out. He didn't need him in here more than he needed a deadly disease, wishing he would leave and go accompany someone with higher tolerance for annoyances. Omi could probably make them supper, he needed to feed the nurse anyway.

After several moments with more instructions, the doctor said his farewells and walked outside, gently closing the door in the process. Yohji occupied himself with staring at it for a while. It was brown, wooden, simple…

He blinked. This time, he got away cheaply. Manx had perhaps done her job well enough, but it wasn't like the doctors cared for Aya's survival for real. It was just as good, at least he wouldn't have to endure them as much as he would have if they had gotten their will.

Yohji sighed softly, slowly walking over to the nearest wall to lean on it. His hair was still damp, wetting the back of his shirt because the towel had slid of his shoulders at some point. It was barely noticeable, he didn't want to bother with changing it. 

Aya was lying quietly, not making the smallest movement, eyes closed and wearing the most peaceful expression Yohji had ever seen on him. And he didn't like it. Aya, quiet, calm, oblivious were things Aya never was.

Aya was always ready to shove the katana down someone's throat. The goddamn katana which Kritiker's team had been able to retrieve afterwards and thus eliminate all traces of them, which was probably the only reason to why Manx agreed to his terms. Once hurt, Aya would always scrunch up and hiss and say things that made Yohji want to slit his throat, he would shrug them all off and pretend he was fine even if he could barely stand on his feet. But now, he could go and slap Aya across the face and get no reaction at all.

Yohji smiled weakly, fighting the growing weariness he felt. Karma… goddamned karma. Just when he had been able to take a firm decision, life would make up some shit and force him to reconsider. In the case with Aya, he'd been given more than enough agonizing days with uncertainty to make up a new opinion on everything. On his surrogate family, action heroes, and most of all on the irritating redhead in front of him.

--- 

"Ugh…"

Sunlight. Bright, blinding sunlight shone through the window, not hindered by the thin curtains that hung on each side. Yohji lifted his head slowly, very slowly, eyes involuntarily narrowing. A piece of white cloth tickled his nose, forcing him to grimace.

White… white was not the color of his own bed sheets. His eyelashes fluttered as he moved a hand experimentally, realizing the upper half of his body was resting on a bed. The other part, however, was on the cold, hard floor.

How come?

He tried to stretch his legs as well, which was only possible with a great deal of pain. But that wasn't all; his neck and shoulder muscles felt like someone had injected a paralyzing poison into them. Yohji let out a mumbling curse, turning his head to one side. The sun didn't plan on leaving him in peace, shining as if there was no tomorrow. He dug his fingers into the soft mattress, pushing his body up. With a little effort and support from the bed, he was able to stand up and take a look around.

He'd fallen asleep sitting beside Aya's bed.

Yohji raised an eyebrow despite himself. He'd heard of people who fell asleep in chairs watching unconscious patients, but this was just ridiculous. That, and his back wouldn't let him forget it anytime soon. His gaze wandered across the room, starting on the sleeping Aya and ending on the door behind him, which was still closed.

If this was how he had been planning to watch over Aya, he'd done a damn poor job. In fact, he hadn't even been able to get himself a comfortable chair as he originally planned, before passing out sometime during the evening. The thought gave him an unpleasant feeling in his gut, and he made his way over to Aya's bed again, reaching for his hand on impulse. That's where he stopped, pulling back, satisfying himself with just watching Aya's chest rise and fall.

Aya was still alive and asleep, in the same position as he had been the previous night. The nurse wouldn't have any reason to give him a reprimand, even though he deserved it. In the brightly lit room, Yohji could finally get a good look at him, and he didn't like what he saw.

It was nearly impossible to distinguish Aya's skin from the white bed sheets. Damn, the man had always been weirdly pale, but now he could have been made out of snow for real. His red hair was a sharp contrast to his surroundings, spilled all over the pillow. The left hand was bandaged thoroughly, his long fingers barely visible, but there were small adhesive bandages on his face as well. Yohji hoped the cuts and burn marks wouldn't scar, because he could simply not imagine Aya with any.

He kept staring at Aya for a while longer, then straightened up and stretched. Again, he found himself in Aya's room, which was about his least favorite place in the whole house. It looked a bit like those offices in the apartment advertisements. Yohji went to Aya's writing desk, noticing that his drawers were locked as always. Yes, he'd been trying to open them before, though never going as far as trying to pick the locks. Whatever Aya stored there was probably not interesting anyway; he honestly doubted he would stumble over the secrets of Aya's sex life or his diary by digging in his drawers. Aya was a little too paranoid to store anything like that in a drawer with a simple lock, probably too paranoid to even store it in a goddamned safe. Besides, Aya didn't have a life, and sex was out of the question.

His desk was clean, a black penholder standing in a corner, beside small calendar. His glasses also lay there, reflecting the light from the window. The doctors had absently placed a set of band-aids in the middle, and there were dried stains of some medical liquid on it as well. Yohji took it away, rubbing his palm over the stains until they were gone.

Losing interest in Aya's writing desk, he headed for Aya's closet, carefully prying the sliding doors open and peeking inside. Nothing surprising there either – a whole collection of plain or downright hideous clothes in the most eye-damaging colors one could find. He knew Aya's wardrobe just as well as he knew Omi and Ken's, and not only because he'd been forced to do the laundry one time too many. Aya seemed to have a thing for covering himself up, often wearing long sleeved shirts or sweaters with turtlenecks.

Yohji didn't dig further in Aya's perfectly sorted and neatly folded sets of clothes, letting the doors close and getting to Aya's bookshelves. That was something he'd rather not look at, feeling his head throb at the very sight of the covers. They were also organized in some sort of order, for all he knew, and he was probably doing Aya a favor by not touching them. On the other hand, since he had plans of staying in the room most of the day, it sounded like an idea to pick at least one of them.

Yohji took a few steps while he read the titles on each cover. History, philosophy, and a heap of weird, poetic names that told him nothing. He settled for a small, brown one and pulled it out, simply because it looked thin. Whatever it was about, he would read it after breakfast.

A small rustle of blankets, barely audible, made Yohji almost drop the book, looking like a criminal caught in action. He whirled around, stopping midways to look at the occupant of the bed. Black lashes fluttered soundlessly, eyelids slowly opening to reveal a pair of dark, azure eyes. Disoriented eyes, that just seemed to stare the ceiling for an indefinite period of time before they shifted to study the room. They narrowed, Aya slowly lifting his arm to cover them from the sunlight and failing. Yohji wasn't even aware of that his mouth was hanging partly open.

Eventually, Aya's gaze settled on him, and they were staring at each other. As much as Aya could stare anyway, he didn't seem to be completely aware of his surroundings. He noticed a stranger in his room and tensed, his otherwise emotionless face contorting in pain.

Yohji's hand was already resting on the doorknob. This was kind of uncalled for; he didn't expect Aya to wake up right now. Was too unprepared to deal with it, not even knowing what he should say. But if he ran away now, he'd be damned. He knew that as well.

"You're awake." He simply went for, loving the meaningless phrase. Stating the obvious was always a solution when a man can't say anything better for his bare life. The words were gently spoken, careful to not startle Aya further. They didn't award him with any reaction or reply either.

"Yohji here, man. Easy." He took a few steps forward and Aya relaxed, letting his head fall back on the pillow. Recognition at last, then. 

He didn't know if it was a good thing, suspecting that Aya would tell him to get the hell out if he only had been able to. He cast a glance at the door, then turned. Still Aya didn't make a sound, leaving them in serene silence. One that couldn't last forever. Yohji walked over and reached for the glass of water at the nightstand, bringing it close to his mouth. Aya's eyes looked at the glass with longing, but he barely bothered to part his lips even when Yohji tipped the glass a little. He took one small sip, like a stray cat that has been without human contact for too long and didn't trust being fed. Then he turned his head, closing his eyes. Yohji took the glass away.

He put it down and went back to the discarded book lying horizontally on top of the other books, letting his fingers flip through the pages with superficial interest. Yohji carried it over to the glass doors, staring out at the balcony bathed in light. Leaves had gathered there in small piles, and no one had been there to brush them off. He pulled one of the curtains a little to the side, enough to spare Aya the discomfort of being blinded.

"You came back for me…"

A soft admission, a statement on the verge of a question. The voice was hoarse, thin. There was hidden emotion in it, something Yohji couldn't put his finger on.

"Damn right I did." He grinned weakly to his transparent reflection, pressing his fingers against the glass. It had to be cold outside now, and yet the sun shone in all its false glory. Aya said nothing more, though the question was there. He had far too much pride to ask, staring right in front of himself and seemingly ignoring Yohji. The question settled heavily between them, unvoiced and still so loud.

Why?

He exhaled, partly sighing. Why… interesting topic indeed. Why not? Yohji asked himself. Was it really so wrong to care after all? Even though they were assassins and murderers and goddamned assholes that would shatter everything their hands touched and the whole tragic serenade – was it wrong? Omi had done it all the time. Omi was silly, young and not completely corrupted yet, and Yohji had found it cute, playing along with his games. But now, he wasn't so sure. What had the kid seen that Yohji's consciousness hadn't been willing to acknowledge? Something that had been there all the time, and that Aya seemed to dread. But it _was_.

He turned, Aya lifting his head to look at him. Yohji felt something inside of him clench. There was fear in that seemingly impassive face. Not the paralyzing kind, but a deep, hurting fear that bordered to sorrow.

The corners of his mouth drew up in a wry, gentle half-smile.

"Why." He said finally, playing with the corners of Aya's book, letting his nails scrape the edges. "For the same reason as you went back for Omi, I guess. What do you say… Abyssian?"

The smile didn't leave his lips, Yohji fixing his eyes on the beige wall above the bed. Aya's eyes regained some of their piercing glare ability, the supernatural emotion vanishing. 

"I did it out of duty. My mission… completed. Omi had … the samples…"

The effort of the long sentences made Aya break out in a coughing fit, bringing his good hand to his mouth for cover. He shut his eyes, gasping a little, and then coughing again. Yohji put one hand on his hip, just watching Aya quietly. Taking in everything about him. The untidy hair and the stray bangs, the sickly pale, annoying face, the shaking shoulders.

"Right. I forgot… the great Fujimiya – never – feels anything."

He crossed the room and closed his eyes, door shutting gently behind him.

---


	5. Chapter 5

**Final part**

---

Yohji stood in the kitchen wearing his characteristic green apron and washed dishes with the most dull expression the world had ever seen.

It had been like that for days now, and Weiss were slowly sinking into a rather bothersome circle of depressing daily activities. Ever since Aya ended up hurt, things just started to… suck. Yohji hadn't seen much of Aya after that first morning, deliberately avoiding the redhead. That wasn't to say he didn't hang out outside of Aya's room regularly, sticking his head in like a curious child wondering what his parents were doing at night, but something had set an invisible barrier on the doorstep anyway.

Omi took care of Aya, and spent a lot of time on it. He was just one step from becoming a fulltime nurse, all he needed to do was to buy himself a white coat. None of them did mind, for it was certainly better than letting that cranky nurse being let anywhere near Aya. Knowing the stupid bastard, Yohji assumed things were less stressful for him this way. Of course, that woman was still around, supervising everything and constantly snapping at Omi even though the kid learned truly fast. There was no way to get her out, and not only because Aya's recovery was painfully slow. Kritiker probably wanted an agent around, making sure they didn't attempt anything. Making sure Yohji didn't get second thoughts when it came to the "price to pay".

He still had no clue about the extent of the 'price', but placed his bet on a solo mission. A solo mission from hell, that was for sure. But as for when they would call him in, and what they would force him to, he could only wonder. Yohji preferred to not think about it excessively though, for that led to other questions he still had unanswered. Or liked to think he had unanswered.

Every time, he would ask himself if doing what he did for Aya, for Weiss, was worth it.

Every time, a small devil would appear on his shoulder and ask him who the hell he thought he was fooling. His mind might have tried to block out that night later on, but the memories of the raw dread, disbelief, panic he had felt were undeniable.

Sometimes, Yohji felt like he had two separate minds, on a good way to going schizo. These didn't always seem to agree, and when the one, most annoying one settled on a decision, Yohji could argue with his more logical side all he wanted and fail. This was the way it had to be. But since Aya kept the two younger team mates busy nowadays, their family game had derailed quite a lot. Chores kept piling up, Ken and Omi would switch between sitting with Aya, and that left the oldest Weiss member to take care of things. Reluctantly.

Yohji brushed away hair from his forehead with the back of his hand and huffed. The skin on his fingers was wrinkled already, as he kept his hands underwater without efficiency. He lifted the small, green sponge and glared miserably at it. Warm water leaked from it, and much conveniently down his lower arm and into his sleeve. Yohji dropped the thing with a hiss.

Two hours in the kitchen while Ken was making deliveries and Omi was nursing the redhead, and he had to endure getting soaked. Apart from that, he felt quite pleased with the work he had done. The trash had been taken out, table and kitchen desk wiped clean, and he even remembered to stuff the drawer with clean tablecloths.

There was also dinner to be made, but Yohji settled for frozen pizza. Nothing too healthy, yet better than the lukewarm soup Omi had made for Aya earlier this morning. Yohji had never been known for good food habits, and left the question of rabbit food to their youngest member. Today, it was his dinner, and thus his rules.

Just when Yohji was musing over these trivial matters, Omi came downstairs, peeking tiredly into the kitchen. He seemed a little confused, giving Yohji his usual "thank you" smile. Yohji waved back sourly, challenging himself with not asking for Aya's condition. This was a good day as any to at least try to keep up his reputation. He had worked hard on his lovely happy-go-lucky gentleman attitude; there was no reason to give up the shards he had left without a fight.

But Omi didn't seem to mind the lack of conversation, ambling through the living room and into the hallway. Yohji heard the rustle of clothes, brows perking up in curiosity. He snatched a towel and followed, brushing away foam that had found its way to his cheek.

"Omi? Where you going, kid?"

The younger boy looked up from zipping his jacket, large blue eyes settling on Yohji. He blinked, bringing up a hand to brush through his hair.

"Oh..." He said and bent down to tie his shoelaces. "I'm going to the hospital. To check on Aya's sister. I'll bring her fresh flowers too." A little, sad smile appeared on his face again. Yohji's eyebrows rose even higher.

"Eh? Why that?"

Omi looked up again, even more confused than he appeared just a moment ago. Yohji was hit by a sudden thought telling him that he just said something stupid.

"Because Aya hasn't been there for a while. He used to go once a week, but now he can't… and he asked us to take care of her if something happened to him, you know?"

No, I don't, Yohji wanted to say. It was his turn to blink and stand there with apron and ponytail and foam on his hands. Aya had… no wait. _Aya_, – that – Aya, had asked them to take care of his sister if something befell him? Yohji could swear his jaw was lying somewhere on the floor now. Not that it didn't make sense of course, for Aya didn't have anyone else, but it still hit with an impact.

And the impact came with bitterness. Aya's sister, the real Aya, was the only living relative the redhead had left, that was true. But Yohji had always regarded the girl as something more, like the very manifestation of Aya's soul, or something equally freakish. Yohji had totally missed the request of caring for her in Aya's place, and here Omi was talking about it as if it was general knowledge.

"I'll go."

The boy looked up with a frown, question written all over his face. Yohji didn't give him the time to mope, throwing the kitchen towel in his direction.

"W-what?"

"I said I'll go." Yohji was already picking up his lighter and car keys from the living room. He brushed past Omi on his way into the corridor, pulling the shades out of his coat pocket. The door clicked firmly shut, leaving the Weiss boy with dishes to dry and perplexity.

---

The hospital corridors were eerily silent, Yohji found out as he walked past identical doors with numbers on with a small bundle in his arms. Each step he made echoed better than in the depths of a tunnel. Pale blue tiles on the walls and a white, long carpet. He turned his head to look at each door, hiding his free hand in the pocket of his jeans.

It had been a pain to convince the receptionist to permit him to visit in the first place. Apparently, she had her doubts about him being eligible, which led to a huge discussion about his identity. Yes, he was in Weiss. Yes, his name was Yohji Kudoh. Yes, he knew Ran Fujimiya personally. No, he wasn't in the mood for a flirt and she didn't seem like the type to fall for it anyway. Finally, the woman checked the list over permitted people, telling Yohji that he could proceed.

So Aya _had_ put him on that list, relief in itself. Probably as a last option though, in case Yohji ended up as the only surviving member of Weiss. But then again, he could probably hire a trusted member of Kritiker to do it instead…

Or could he?

Yohji hadn't ever considered it before, but if Aya died, there would not be any fortune to leave behind. Kritiker demanded good sums for Aya-chan's care. If he failed and there weren't anyone to take the responsibility, they would be cruel enough to simply cut the girl's life short.

He stopped outside of Aya-chan's room, turning the doorknob before he slipped inside. The room was dim, indigo curtains letting in some of the pale light from the window. There she lay, silently in the hospital bed in the middle of the room. Yohji got a sudden feeling of uneasiness.

She resembled some fairytale princess, trapped in an eternal dream with that peaceful, calm expression on her face. Her hands were folded on her stomach, curled loosely around a small something she treasured through her sleep. Even the braids were neatly done, the dark hair such a contrast to her older brother's.

She isn't real. Yohji kept staring at the motionless form in the bed, chewing on his bottom lip. So now he was here, paying Aya's beloved sister a visit. And so? Should he just put the flower he brought on the nightstand beside her and leave? Yohji knew there was more to visits like these; he just forgot to ask what. It wasn't like he had anyone in a hospital to visit. Actually it wasn't like he had anyone to care for at all.

Except… yeah, except.

But this was a complete stranger. Sure he had seen her before, back when they hunted the asses of Schwartz, but he had never been forced make up any attitude. She was a young, sweet girl, that's all there was to her. Or so Yohji thought.

He had always wondered how Aya was able to provoke the strangest emotions within people without even opening his mouth, but now it seemed to be a special Fujimiya talent. Only where Aya usually offered anger, this girl reflected the opposite.

Yohji felt… warmth.

He walked further inside and set the flower on the table, carefully unwrapping the paper around. A flowerpot of white hyacinths. It would last longer than cut flowers in water, and not wither after a few days without care. All of sudden, he felt the room was simply too dim, and so he went over to pull away the curtains. Aya-chan just lay in her bed, motionless as any abandoned doll.

Yohji turned to her and sent her a look of pity and dismay, sighing.

"Your brother got himself in trouble. That's why you get idiots like me visiting instead of him."

There was no answer, as expected. No small movement, no reaction, nothing. He smiled and sat down in the chair in the other end of the bed, leaning forwards to rest his lower arms on his tights. With daylight brightening the room, he could see the serene face more clearly. The long lashes, the feminine, delicate traits. And yet, no matter how cute, how much younger she looked, she bore the characteristic Fujimiya lines. She was a female reflection of Aya, as frail and gentle as the brother was cold and fierce.

"He is a real prick, you knew that?"

He was looking at the hyacinths. There were other pots there as well, but without flowers. The curtains weren't white and sterile, but dark and secretive. A small plush kitten sat on a small shelf to the left of the bed. It was white, carrying a black collar with a large bell on. If not for the medical equipment on the other side of the nightstand, one could think this was a girl's sanctuary and not a hospital room. Yohji stood up and went to the window.

The leaves were still falling. Were they never going to stop? One after one, not yellow and bright red anymore, but orange and brown, stained with black spots.

"He does all this for you though. Must be nice to have a brother like that, I think. He puts up with morons like us for you, he kills for you. He gets hurt for you."

Yohji placed a hand on the glass again, just letting himself feel the cold from the transparent surface, leaving his fingerprints.

"You're lucky, Aya-chan."

He could see the parking lot from the window. A car pulled up, another left. He rarely saw any families, even those times he had been forced to spend some nights here himself. This was a Kritiker hospital after all. Men and women came, probably checking on the condition of their lovers. Some would break into tears, some would sigh with relief.

Some would get the news and never find out the truth.

Perhaps he would end up here soon too. As the days passed, Yohji questioned his sanity more and more. And it didn't help that he was sitting in a silent hospital room, talking to a comatose patient he had no relationship too and still feeling like he owed her something.

He turned, observing the plush kitten on her nightstand again. It was easy to imagine that she once had cherished it, maybe it had been standing on a shelf in her room. One of the ears seemed to have a burn mark; Aya must have gone back to their house and retrieved it at some point.

His gaze fell on a picture frame beside the stuffed cat. It was lying with the glass side down, hidden from view. Yohji had to cross the room again to lift it, setting up it carefully. It was a photo of the siblings. The cheerful Aya-chan in the front, waving at the camera, a younger Aya in the background with his shy smile. Something was scribbled at the bottom. A date, Aya and Ran Fujimiya.

Yohji was almost about to drop the photo at first, lost in bewilderment. Just seeing Aya's mouth like that was invaluable in itself, and then there were those happy eyes, the lack of a scowl on his face… And this had once been Aya?

He blinked. No, not Aya. Ran. It was Ran, that timid youth he was staring at. No death-promising swords, no blood and bullet wounds, just a smiling boy and his sister posing for their parents.

Yohji swallowed.

Ran.

Of course he had known that Aya's real name was Ran. He had told them on his own accord, just as he once told Sakura. It was also in Kritiker's register, and somewhere in Omi's information database. But he just never associated Aya with the name, it held no meaning. Yohji started to wonder why these revelations about him came as such big surprises every time. After all, it was kind of logical that the redhead had, or used to have a different side.

It was just that Yohji hadn't believed it. He had gotten a rather justified impression of Aya as the mother of all bitches, a lump of ice and generally dangerous, and simply never cared to find out more. Never considered that Aya was something more. He had known _Aya_, not Ran.

And that Aya was like a goddamned cage, a merciless, cruel being that had slowly killed the boy Yohji was looking at. It made sense, for this boy was not a murderer. Those eyes held innocence, not dark memories. This boy was clumsy and shy, not elegant and deadly. Yohji found it funny, for he had always seen Aya as elegance itself. Mr Gorgeous swinging the katana like it was a child's toy and all, yet he suddenly had to realize that Aya was probably one of the most clumsy people he knew.

The way he struggled to tell a person something that didn't involve 'leave me alone'. Starting, changing his mind, fumbling until Omi pried it out of him. The way he would be at loss when giggling girls approached him, looking from side to side until he could fend them off with a grunt. Even the way he would opt for the most drastic methods when something happened, direct and boisterous.

Yohji couldn't help but laugh. It was something he hadn't done in a very, very long time. Not sincerely anyway, not after the chain of events they had been thrown into. He covered his mouth with the back of his hand, laughing quietly. Then, he looked at Aya-chan again.

Would things have been different if she had been awake? Most certainly. If this girl had been there to hold Aya's hand and guide him, everything would have been different. Perhaps the thought of revenge wouldn't have crossed his mind even. They would have lived in a tiny apartment, Aya working hard so his sister could complete her education. She would bring friends home and they would admire her brother, making the color of his cheeks match his hair. Aya would buy her small treats when he came home late Friday evenings and worry himself sick when she had an exam and glare death at her boyfriends and completely dedicate his life to her.

And he would still be Ran. But instead, the only memory of this boy was locked away in a glass frame placed against the wooden surface of the nightstand. Yohji looked at the photography again, realizing that Aya didn't even like what he saw there.

Didn't like being reminded of who he once was, because he had forgotten what it implied. There was no way back now, and perhaps, perhaps Aya had even given up the hope of seeing his sister awake again. Perhaps he just clung to this room, this shell of a once cheerful, sweet girl out of habit. And if she suddenly passed away, he would lose all direction. Aya was that type.

There had been a small, folded piece of paper beside the photo too. Yohji picked it up, reading the smooth, yet somewhat scattered handwriting. A poem to Aya-chan, untitled, and short. More like a collection of words that still were connected to each other and formed a message. So that was what Aya put down in those brown, dull notebooks of his. Studied, so he could maybe get a better job when his sister woke up, and then wrote poetry.

It wasn't a nice poem either. It wasn't professionally done, didn't follow the right, elegant pattern that would culminate in a conclusion. It was raw and untidy, conveying feelings that were impossible for Aya to express otherwise. Ran's poem.

Yohji put it away and sighed. The fairytale Princess was sleeping, oblivious of his meddling in her sanctuary, waiting for her Prince. The said Prince was still too weak to get out of his bed, being taken care of by the heartfelt Fairy and his good helper.

That left the Fool.

And what a fool he was, betraying himself once again. He'd been through this one time too many, still fell for the same trap and unable to do anything to hinder it.

He stuck his hands in his pockets and walked to the door, turning on the doorstep to look at the young girl with the peaceful allusion of a smile on her lips. He attempted to glare, smiled back, gave the most miserable sigh.

"Yeah, yeah. I'll look after him."

A pause.

"Never had much choice in the matter, did I?"

And the door clicked shut.

---

It was late evening when Yohji returned home, having picked up some groceries on the way back.

The Koneko house was silent, chairs and lamps and the sofa casting shadows on the walls. Neither of the other boys could be heard, Omi probably still smearing his fingers with soil to catch up for the days of work he missed. The bunch of orders and deliveries to be made, some rather urgent, had been piling up. Unless they wanted their store to go bankrupt and receive hell from Kritiker, someone needed to make sure they had it done. Ken's bike hadn't been in the driveway either, the man still chasing around with flowers.

Yohji kicked off his shoes and carried the bag of food into the kitchen. He placed it on the table, taking out the cartoons of milk and juice that had to be put in the fridge so the drinks wouldn't get warm. There wasn't any meal waiting for him, just a platter with a half-eaten slice of bread and an empty soup bowl accompanied by an open newspaper. In the sparse lighting, it was hard to read anything more than the headline. Something about a large traffic accident in the eastern part of the town.

He shrugged off his coat and let it hang over one of the kitchen chairs, pulling out a cigarette. The window in the living room was open, letting in the chilly fresh air. Invited him to break yet another rule and lit his smoke inside, watching it dissolve in the autumn night. If any of the Weiss members came into the room now, he would never hear the end of it. Smoking by the window still counted as 'inside'.

They could be cruel like that. There was no exception of this rule, even on the coldest winter days. If he had his own apartment, he could have smoked in every corner. In his bed. He could have a sweet little lass bring him breakfast and do his laundry, and he would reward her with romantic dinners.

And it wouldn't work. He stumped his smoke and left the cigarette butt in the flowerpot with a grin. They sure needed to clean out the leaves on the front of their store, maybe sometime during the next weekend. At least sometime before winter. Yohji didn't remember today's date, but he knew it wasn't long before winter and snow.

Wasn't long before Christmas either. Usually, Omi was going head over heels planning at this time of the year. Last year, he had been ecstatic when snow started to fall the very night before Christmas. This year there probably wouldn't be any snow, as mild as the weather had been. Yohji could picture Omi's bottom lip quivering already.

He turned and looked at the dead TV, an idea forming in his head. This year, he could buy Ken a nintendo for Christmas. It would bring a good amount of joy to their youngest team mates, and probably a lot of cheers and shouts. A football game would be good, and perhaps one of those with green dragons and plumbers. Or a puzzle game that would frustrate Omi to no end. Didn't sound half-bad.

The stairs leading to the second floor creaked when he stepped on them, as they always did in silent houses. One after one, protesting against his weight and giving him away. He climbed his way up, and counted his steps until he reached his destination, carefully leaning on the door. They ought to get a small lamp in this corridor later, so it wouldn't be quite as dangerous to hang out here, drunk or not. Yohji remembered how he once stepped on Ken's sportsbag after a late night in town and almost suffered from a heart attack.

Right now, he was fine with the darkness, lowering his head. He heard coughs from the other side of the door. Small, muffled sounds that brought a miserable smile to his lips. Yohji paused, just savoring the last, small fragments of his old attitude and image. Then, with a final sigh of defeat, he carefully pushed the door open.

Aya was lying on his side, his good arm buried under a pillow. He didn't make a sound when he heard someone step inside, but Yohji knew he didn't sleep. It was strange how Yohji could always know exactly what Aya was doing by just watching him. It also made him aware of that he wasn't welcome. Only a question of time before Aya regained enough strength to make life hell for them again.

Well, shit luck. Yohji's hands tightened into fists as he entered. The atmosphere inside was foul, heavy with the smell of hospital and used air. He still closed the door behind him and made his way to the balcony doors. The curtains were drawn, closing the view to the outer world. And on such a fine evening too. Shame.

Yohji boldly pulled them away as if he owned the room, watching the thin form on the bed lying there with closed eyes. He opened his mouth, closed it. Aya was tense, wondering what he was doing in there and just waiting for him to get out. It didn't work anymore. Yohji was immune.

And the stars were sparkling outside, the only salvation in the moonless night. They accompanied the late leaves, the most stubborn ones that held on until the wind tore them away from the trees. A lonely chair stood on the balcony, abandoned and housing leaves on the seat. The chair Aya used to spend his summer days in, reading, while the rest of Weiss went down to the beach. It gave him an idea.

He didn't even argue with himself as he crossed the room, approaching Aya's bed and slipping his arm under Aya's knees and shoulders and lifting him up, blanket and all following. Aya made a jerking move, head snapping up. His eyes were wide, confused, sleep leaving them completely.

"Wha – "

"Easy. You'll suffocate in here soon."

The voice was husky, quiet. He carried him to the balcony doors, prying one of them open with ease. Years of practice had taught him small, handy tricks, like opening doors with occupied arms. The cold crashed upon them like a wave, a sharp contrast to the thick, tepid air inside. He balanced his way out, welcoming the night and settling down in the chair without brushing the leaves away. It didn't take much effort to gently push Aya back so that he was leaning on him, his head resting on Yohji's shoulder.

Aya shifted uneasily, probably trying to put some distance between them. He attempted to lift his arm and failed, tangled in the blanket. A small, hitching sound escaped his lips when he leaned forward and was held back.

No chance. Not this time. The battle was lost and the bridges burnt down. Losses were acceptable too, now and then unavoidable. They were a part of humanity, wires and swords put aside.

And if Aya did not know what it meant to be human, Yohji was going to teach him.

He wrapped two gentle arms around Aya's middle, careful of the still poorly healed wounds, and pushed him back again. A chin came resting on Aya's shoulder, green eyes closed. Aya made another futile attempt at escaping.

"Relax. You need this."

A last struggle, before exhaustion and indifference finally won. Aya went limp in his arms, just staring at the stars and breathing softly. Yohji smiled into his hair, not pulling away.

"This is called a hug. Not so bad after all, is it? Normally, it doesn't even bite."

Aya didn't answer, letting his arms fall into his lap. The fresh air was a relief, not tearing on his sore throat. Minutes passed like this, in silence. Just them, the night sky and the autumn wind. Until he heard a soft chuckle, muffled by his own shoulder. It ended in a content sigh from his captor, and he felt the breath on his neck. The familiar breath smelling of cigarettes, blending with cheap aftershave and laundry detergent.

"Ran."

Yohji lifted his head when Aya tried to turn around. He tightened his grip a little, the smile fading from his lips.

"I never said sorry, did I?"

"You did."

"No, for… saying you aren't a member of Weiss. And all that bullshit."

Aya went quiet. Yohji didn't to see his face to know the badly hidden expression of surprise. He could play his indifference all he wanted and not accomplish anything. Such a waste too, when he had so much to give the world. So Yohji laughed again, a half-assed little laugh that was barely audible.

"Sometimes I say the most idiotic things, you know… I blame it on my drinking, they say alcohol kills brain cells. If that's the case, I think I'm in serious trouble."

"Let go of me." Small, thin plea.

"I will." Yohji agreed. "If that is what you want." He let his arms fall, freeing Aya. The redhead pulled away, looking at the leaf-covered floor, bare feet poking out from under the blanket. Yohji waited patiently, the grin on his lips growing wider for each passing moment. The arms snuck up again, pulling Aya back into the warmth of the blanket and the comfortable support from a body to lean back on.

"You're not fooling anyone here..."

Aya's hand clenched around the white sheet. Yohji kept smiling into his hair for a little longer, before sighing deeply.

"Look, Ran. If things were as you think they are, Omi would have been running errands for the Takatoris now. Ken would have been in Australia somewhere, or a professional football coach. I would probably have been paying child support to each corner of the city. And what are we doing? We run around and save each other's asses and wag our tails when Kritiker whistles."

He got no reply, azure, half-lidded eyes searching for answers in the night sky. A leaf flew in from the left, settling in Yohji's hair. He pulled it out, letting it fall.

"But that's us. What about you?"

Aya's head dropped, long bangs shielding his eyes.

"My sister…"

"Aya-chan. A sweet child indeed. Her brother is a murderer. Cold, ruthless. Pretty pissy most of the time. "

Aya tensed considerably, eyes growing wide. Yohji's chin found its way to his shoulder again.

"Aya. Weiss assassin, and surrounded by three fools that ended up valuing his life after all, since he doesn't seem to be able to do it himself. Why, he wonders. Is there an answer to that? I don't know, but that's the way it works. Aya can fight it and fail, or he can accept it and let himself be someone else's Aya-chan. He thinks he has nothing to give back, and he isn't obligated to do so. He thinks he doesn't deserve it, and he probably doesn't. But the truth is, we're all sinners, Ran. We broke more rules than you can find in any religion. A few more can't hurt… "

Yohji's voice trailed off and died. He simply held Aya, surprised when no elbow caught him in the ribs and no fist landed on his face. No other sounds were made either, except from the rustle of cloth when Aya let himself fall onto Yohji and closed his eyes.

Yohji looked up, his fingertips going numb from the cold. Yes, they were all idiots, losing to themselves over and over. He leaned over a little, bringing his mouth close to Aya's ear. There was no reason to bother the stars with their talk, they had seen this for years, decades, centuries already.

"… And you know what? It's all right."

---

_And here they were again._

Yohji was occupying the couch, glaring sourly at the TV screen while Ken was fumbling with the DVD player. He picked up the cover lying on his left side, scanning the description on the back. Another romance/action movie, bulky guy and sexy girl posing on the front. Somehow, they always ended up renting something like that, the price to pay for sending Ken to the video store.

Omi was in the kitchen, running between the microwave oven to check on their popcorn and the table where he made dip for their French fries. It was weekend again, house shining like a diamond after a solid round of 'family games'.

There, Ken finally inserted the disk and used the remote controller to turn on the TV, pleased with himself to no end. Yohji steeled himself for two and a half hour with crash and bang and steamy sex scenes. Guy fights baddies, guy kicks ass, guy saves the world and gets the chick. Two hours with "Yeah right!" and "Check those moves, man!"

Maybe the girl would die in the end, and Omi would get a small allergic reaction out of nothing. Yohji grinned. But most likely not, as this was a Ken movie.

"Hey! Don't start without me!" Omi's indignant voice came from the kitchen, the boy rushing to finish their snack as the commercials started. Ken stood up and ran out to help carry the stuff. Yohji rolled his eyes.

Here they were again, assassins going Saturday casual. Only now, Aya was sitting to his left and reading, long legs curled under him. He had a little trouble turning the pages because of his broken arm. Yohji solved that by snatching the book away from him and pretend to check out the cover.

Japan during the Second World War. Interesting. He met Aya's glare with a small smile and handed back the book. Aya placed it on the table, interest turning to the TV screen where men in black suits were now running around with suitcases. That's when Omi and Ken returned, each one with a bowl of popcorn and plates of something that just couldn't be healthy, fighting over the spot in the middle of the couch like children.

Yohji reached forward and took a handful of chips, handing some of them to Aya before he made himself comfortable in the squeezed couch.

It wasn't so bad. In fact, it was rather fine. Convenient, in a way. Rather cozy too. It was Saturday evening and he would have lots of junk food to comfort himself with and a splendid opportunity to find out if Aya actually made a good pillow.

And he was home.

- The end.

---

**Thank you for all reviews and wonderful comments. ****I appreciate it. **


End file.
